Divergent: Four's POV
by lsmyang
Summary: Divergent from Four's point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**My first story! Hope it doesn't disappoint...**

* * *

><p>Two years ago today, I was one of many standing at the Choosing Ceremony. For some, it was the day they returned to their own faction as adults. For others, it was the day they followed their instincts and stepped foot into another faction in hopes of pursuing their own beliefs. For me, it was the day I shed my gray clothes and left my father. My father, the reason for my fears, my insecurities. I often wonder why I was punished with the cruel parent; why out of hundreds of happy, loving families, I was left with the one that, well, wasn't. I now think of it as a blessing rather than a curse. "Faction before blood", they always say. I have grown to believe that saying.<p>

Two years ago today, I was a Dauntless initiate. I was good - very good. I ranked first, and naturally, was offered a government position. However, power isn't something I seek. Those who have it tend to lose themselves to it. Power turns people into addicts without them ever realizing. I've seen it happen, and it's not a path I intend to explore. So I declined the job, opting for something more suitable for me, like training Dauntless initiates - and here they come.

Above me, I hear Max, one of the Dauntless leader, shouting instructions to the initiates gathered around the ledge of the building that leads to the entrance of our compound.

"Who do you think will be the first jumper?" asks Lauren.

This really isn't a difficult question. "A Dauntless born or an Erudite. Dauntless borns know our compound inside and out. They know no real danger poses for them at the bottom. Erudites will be the next to figure that out. It all comes down to who has the guts to make the first move."

"Good guess. Very educated guess."

I grin at her and shrug.

"Looks like we'll find out soon."

I follow her gaze up to the ledge of the building. A dark shape has unattached itself from the crowd and now stands at the ledge. It jumps, without even a moment of hesitation, and lands on the net seconds later.

A laugh escapes her. Half relieved, half hysterical.

I reach a hand out to help her up onto the platform. She stumbles, and I grip her arms to stop her from falling. I notice she's wearing gray clothes. An Abnegation.

"I can't believe it," remarks Lauren, smirking. "A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of."

"There's a reason why she left them, Lauren." And the knowledge of this gives me the satisfaction that no government job is ever capable of. The knowledge that someone else, much like myself, is able to find their place here and fit in whereas they couldn't with their old faction.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Um..."

Hesitation.

"Think about it." I say, a faint smile curling my lips. "You don't get to pick again."

"Tris." she tells me, an edge of confidence now evident in her voice.

"Tris." Lauren repeats, grinning. "Make the announcement, Four."

I look over my shoulder at the crowd hiding in the shadows and announce, "First jumper - Tris!"

Everyone erupts into cheers and pumps their fists. Just then, another jumper drops onto the net, screaming, which sends the crowd into fits of laughter followed by more cheering. I tear my eyes away from the crowd and turn my attention back to Tris, placing a hand on her back.

"Welcome to Dauntless."


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm soooo sorry that it took me this long to update, but school's been kind of hectic due to midterms and stuff. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and liked the first chapter! I hope you guys enjoy this one as well! Please please please review it if you have time because I love reading everyone's feedback!**

* * *

><p>Lauren and I wait until all of the initiates are standing on solid ground again before leading them through a narrow tunnel that leads to the compound. I can still recall the first time I walked down this path. The darkness used to be unsettling, but now it acts like a blanket, covering my fears and smoothing over the past of who I used to be.<p>

We stop abruptly without warning, and I chuckle to myself when I hear several bodies colliding as the initiates halt unexpectedly one by one.

"This is where we divide," Lauren says. "The Dauntless-born initiates are with me. I assume _you_ don't need a tour of the place."

More than half of the group break off and follow Lauren. Only nine initiates remain with me. I note that most of the transfers are from Candor and Erudite. There is one Abnegation, and no Amity. Typical.

"Most of the time I work in the control room, but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor." I tell them. " My name is Four."

I'm not exactly fond of that nickname, but it is who I am here. I carry the hope that someday, someone will discover my story, and I will be known as me again. The real me.

"Four? Like the number?" a Candor girl asks.

"Yes," I say. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Good. We're about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It-"

"The Pit?" the same girl snickers. "Clever name."

Her attitude is beginning to get on my nerves. I walk towards her, glaring.

"What's your name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Christina," she manages to squeak out.

"Well Christina, if I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction," I hiss right into her face. "The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut. Got that?"

She nods.

I walk back to the front of the crowd and begin leading them to the end of the tunnel. The initiates follow in silence.

The tunnel opens up to an underground cavern, otherwise known as the Pit, where the Dauntless spend a large amount of their leisure time. The place hosts an assortment of shops selling food, clothing, and supplies, and there are also rooms built for leisure activities. Narrow paths carved from rock connect each room; no railings were put in place to keep people from falling.

The place is chaotic, as usual. People are everywhere, all dressed in black, Dauntless clothing, bustling about. It sure is a lot more lively here than where I came from, and I'm grateful for the noise. It provides a much needed distraction. As a group of children run down the path, I catch the Stiff's worried expression for a moment before it disappears. She'll get acquainted with the chaos sooner or later. Preferably sooner, if she wants to make it through initiation.

"If you follow me," I say, "I'll show you the chasm."

I lead the group to the right side of the Pit, towards the iron barrier that separates us from the rushing water several stories below us.

The initiates pool around the barricade to get a better view of the chasm. A river lies at the bottom. The water is calmer to the left, but to the right, it constantly beats against the rocks, spraying water up towards us. Not many people like to spend time here because of the danger it poses, but I find the roar of the water to be calming. It helps to drown out unwelcome thoughts.

"This chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!" I shout above the roar of the water. "A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life. It has happened before and it will happen again. You've been warned."

A few minutes later, I lead the group into the dining hall. The brightly lit room plays host to a few hundred people who are busy enjoying their meals. A constant buzz of conversation can be heard above the noise of their clattering silverware. When we walk in, everyone stands up to applaud, stamp their feet, and shout. A few of the initiates take in the Dauntless welcome and smile at the crowd.

The place is crowded, but I managed to find a mostly empty table at the side of the room. I sit down, and Christina and Tris follow suit.

Platters of hamburgers sit on the table. Tris picks one up and inspects the patty.

I nudge her with my elbow. "It's beef," I say. "Put this on it." I pass her a bowl of ketchup.

"You've never had a hamburger before?" Christina asks disbelievingly.

"No," Tris says. "Is that what it's called?"

"Stiffs eat plain food," I explain to Christina.

"Why?" she asks.

Tris shrugs. "Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary."

"No wonder you left." remarks Christina.

"Yeah," Tris says, rolling her eyes. "It was because of the food."

I smirk at her response. The Stiff's got jokes.

Just then, the doors to the cafeteria opens and the presence of the person entering the room is enough to halt all conversations.

"Who's that?" Christina hisses.

"His name is Eric," I tell them. "He's a Dauntless leader."

"Seriously? But he's so young."

I give her a grave look. "Age doesn't matter here."

Not much does. Dauntless used to be a faction built on bravery and pride. Over time, their meanings have changed. Bravery no longer stands for the beliefs we used to pride ourselves on. Power is all that governs us now. The ones who are physically and mentally powerful are the ones who have the privilege of holding an authoritative position.

Eric stands at the door scanning the room. I tense up the moment his eyes meet mine. He starts towards my table and drops into the seat next to me.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" he asks, motioning towards Tris and Christina.

"This is Tris and Christina." I say. Hardly an introduction.

"Ooh, a Stiff," says Eric, leering at Tris. "We'll see how long you last."

Eric's judgment is always incorrect. He often makes the mistake of undermining a person's abilities. After all, I, an Abnegation, outranked him during our own initiation. I was hoping Tris would retaliate, but nothing came out of her mouth. I don't blame her. Eric's pierced face and greasy hair is far from the appearance she's accustom to.

"What have you been doing lately, Four?" he asks.

I shrug. "Nothing, really."

"Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up," Eric says. "He requested that I find out what's going on with you."

I hold his gaze for a couple of seconds. "Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold."

"So he wants to give you a job."

"So it would seem." I say.

I sense his alertness; he perceives me to be a potential threat to his position. I can understand why, but he must not be clueless to the fact that a position of power is not something I am looking for.

"And you aren't interested."

"I haven't been interested for two years."

"Well," says Eric. "Let's hope he gets the point, then."

He claps me on the shoulder, a little too hard for it to be a friendly gesture, and walks away. From the corner of my eye, I see Tris relax.

"Are you two...friends?" she asks.

"We were in the same initiate class," I tell her. "He transferred from Erudite."

"Were you a transfer too?" she continues.

She's surprisingly curious for an Abnegation. This isn't a good time for curious though; I'd rather not share my past with an initiate who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut.

"I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions," I reply coldly. "Now I've got Stiffs, too?"

"It must be because you're so approachable," she says flatly. "You know. Like a bed of nails."

I stare at her; I can't figure her out. I have never met a Stiff who challenged people like this. She holds my gaze, her eyes never wavering, not even for a fraction of a second.

"Careful, Tris." is all I say to her.

I hear someone call my name from another table, so I hastily finish my dinner and leave the table to join my friends.

They tell me about their day, I tell them about mine. They ask me about the initiates, I mumble something about inquisitiveness. I sit through an awful lot of talking before deciding to call it a day. I slip out before Eric comes back to pick up the initiates, and head up one of the dark, winding hallways that lead to my room.

I spend a long time lying in my bed staring at the wall, thinking. Thinking about today, thinking about my past, thinking about everything, thinking about...Tris. Eventually, sleep overcomes me so I close my eyes and give myself over to the darkness.

I wake to the sound of a bird's call. Birds? In the compound? My hands stretch out around me and I no longer feel the sheets that I often tangled myself in. Instead, I feel the sogginess of damp soil. I breathe in and recognize the lingering smell of rain. Leaves rustle around me and I realize I'm in a forest.

How did I get here?

I stand up slowly and brush dirt off of my hands and clothes.

"Tobias!" a voice calls.

I snap my head around, trying to locate the owner of the voice, but I only see trees. Rows and rows of trees. They stretch on forever, extending towards the horizon, where a sliver of the sun can still be seen. I watch the light slowly fade as the sun steals my senses and replaces them with the unsettling feeling nightfall brings.

"Tobias!" the voice shouts again, this time, much closer.

It's my father.

How did he find me here of all places?

I don't wait around to find out. Without so much as a backward glance, I start running.

I run.

And I run.

And I run.

I run in hopes of leaving behind the voice that has caused me more pain than I can handle. But no matter how fast I run, I can never outrun his voice.

"Tobias!" he screams, over and over and over, until the word no longer sound like my name. He is angry - no, furious.

I run until I can no longer breathe. My lungs ache and sweat covers my body. My legs give in beneath me and I'm lying on the cold forest floor again.

"You can't run from me forever," he hisses, this time, right by my ear.

Startled, I fumble around trying to find a stick, or a rock, or - I don't know - something, anything, to defend myself with. But all I manage to grab is a handful of what feels like bed sheets.

And then I am...

I am...

I am back in my bed again.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm sooooo sorry that it took me so long to update! I'm done with all of my midterms now so I promise I will update sooner next time. A big thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and alerted this story! You guys are the best (:  
><strong>

* * *

><p>After a long night of tossing and turning, I give up on the notion of sleep and find myself walking down the familiar rocky path that leads to the bottom of the chasm. I sit down on the rocks and fix my eyes on a jagged peak splitting the river's current in half. Water washes over the riverbed and slips away like sand. I hug my knees to my chest and close my eyes. The roar of the water fills my ears and wipes away wasted thoughts. I've been waiting for this silence all night long.<p>

_x x x_

At precisely 7:00am, I walk into the training room to find the initiates already standing in a neat line.

"The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun. The second thing is how to win a fight." I say, while making my way down the row of initiates, pressing a gun into each of their hands. "Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't need to teach you that."

I glance up and down the line and note that their eyes are still heavy from sleep.

"Initiation is divided into three stages." I continue. "We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time."

I pause to let the information sink in.

"We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear," I say. "Therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental."

"But what..." Peter says while yawning. "What does firing a gun have to do with...bravery?"

I flip the gun in my hand, press the barrel to his head, and click the bullet into place. He stops dead in the middle of a yawn.

"Wake. Up," I snap at him. "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it."

I lower the gun from his head. His green eyes harden once he realize the threat is gone. No effort of retaliation came from his mouth. It's good that he's learning to keep his mouth shut, especially after speaking his mind his whole life in Candor.

I turn my back to Peter and start pacing down the row.

"And to answer your question...you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself." I stop and turn on my heel once I reach the end of the line. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me."

I turn to the targets lining the opposite wall and ready myself. Clutching the gun in both hands, I raise my arms, part my feet, and fire.

The bullet hit the target dead and center, like usual.

I motion for the initiates to begin practicing and make my way over to the side of the room. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, and start making watchful observations once the first shot has been fired.

My eyes sweep up and down the row a couple of times before resting on Tris. She 's so much smaller than the rest of the initiates. The gun seems to be a burden for her arms. She squeezes the trigger and the force of the shot catches her off guard as she presses a hand against the wall to steady herself. I have no idea where her bullet went, and I doubt she has a clue either. Judging by her unharmed target, I can deduce the bullet didn't land there. Tris fires again, and again, and again. Still, none of the bullets hit home. She vaguely reminds me of my own experiences as an initiate. I certainly did not stumble the first time I fired a gun, nor did I miss as many times as she did, but I experienced the same hesitation and unease that she probably felt when the weapon was placed in her hands.

I continue to observe the rest of the initiates. After everyone overcomes the edginess of the first shot, hitting the target doesn't prove to be impossible. Bullet holes begin appearing in everyone targets, even Tris's. Eventually, a bullet plants itself in the middle of her target and I watch her eyes widens as her mouth curves into a smile.

_x x x_

After a brief lunch break, I lead the group to a bigger room where they will learn to fight. Faded black punching bags hang at three-foot intervals. The initiates each find their place behind a punching bag while I remain standing in the middle of the room, where they can see me.

"As I said this morning," I start, "next you will learn how to fight. The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges - which you will need, if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless."

I pause and think about what I just said. Truthfully, Dauntless isn't a survival of the fittest. We are a faction that values bravery and pride above all. To survive life as a Dauntless, one simply has to embody these values. However, the leaders now have different stances on how to exemplify the qualities of a Dauntless, and they believe physical violence is one way.

"We will go over technique today," I continue, "and tomorrow you will start to fight each other, so I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don't learn fast will get hurt."

I name and demonstrate a few different punches, both against the air and the punching bag.

The sound of skin hitting tough fabric fills the room as every initiate tries to imitate my actions. It takes a few tries for everyone to get acquainted with the motions, just like it did the guns.

I pace slowly around the room, making careful observations of everyone's strengths and weaknesses. Edward, I notice, seems the most comfortable. While everyone else is still familiarizing themselves with the basic movements, he has already garnered a couple of proper punches and kicks.

I come to a stop in front of Tris and examine her from head to toe.

"You don't have much muscle," I tell her, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."

I press a hand to her stomach.

"Never forget to keep tension here," I advise her quietly. I remove my hand and continue my pacing.

The group continue practicing until I released them for dinner. The room clears out fairly quickly. When the last initiate has stepped out of the room, I shut off the lights, and start making my way down to the dining hall.

I'm about to push open the doors when Eric finds me.

"Four!" he calls while running down the stairs. I turn around and watch him make his way towards me. He skips the last few steps and lands before me. "I'm going to sit in on the paired fighting tomorrow."

"Do as you wish." I reply blankly.

"And don't worry about the pairings. I'll take care of that tonight."

"Sure thing."

"Alright, I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

With that, he claps me on the shoulder and leaves. As I push open the doors to the dining hall, a feeling of dread washes over me. I'm used to Eric's presence in my life, but I can't place a finger as to why his involvement in tomorrow's one on one fighting leaves me feeling so anxious. I shake my head and let the noise from the dining hall carry my thoughts away to the unknown.

There's no use in fretting over the future.

* * *

><p><strong>Review, criticize, you know the whole spiel.<strong>

** Hope you enjoyed this one! (Sorry that it was a bit on the short side)**


	4. Chapter 4

I walk into the training room the next morning to find Eric leaning against the wall waiting for me. I glance around the room and notice the pairings have already been written on the board. I don't know why, but my eyes searched up and down the pairings for Tris's name only to find that it's missing. I don't ask Eric about his decisions. Whatever his intentions are for delaying Tris's fight, I'm not sure I want to know. I fix my eyes on the spot in the arena where I precisely stood for my first fight, remembering the rush of fear and adrenaline that coursed through me. Hard to believe that two years have already gone by.

I snap out of my daze when the initiates start to pile in the door.

"Since there are an odd number of you, one of you won't be fighting today," I say, glancing at Tris for a brief moment.

I do a quick survey of the room and my eyes rest momentarily on Peter, Molly, and Drew. Peter carries an air of arrogance that I don't like. All three do, but Peter especially. He vaguely resembles Eric in his attitude and stature. There is no doubt that he will pass the first stage of initiation with flying colours, but the second and third require more than just brute strength, which by the looks of it, is all he has to offer.

Will and Al are the first pairing to fight. They stand facing each other in opposite sides of the arena. With their hands up by their faces to protect themselves, they start shuffling in a circle. Al is half a foot taller than Will, and twice as broad. I'm almost positive that Al will come out as the first winner, unless Will can pull something extraordinary and prove me wrong.

Al punches Will hard in the jaw, and I see Eric smirking in my peripherals. Will stumbles from the force of Al's blow. With one hand covering his face, he deters Al's second punch with his free hand. Al's size causes him to move slower than most, but what he lacks in speed, he makes up for in strength. Will manages to recover fairly quickly as he hooks a foot around one of Al's legs and yanks back, knocking Al to the ground. Al scrambles to his feet. Will and Al face each other for a few seconds, more hesitant than they were before. They both glance at me as if hoping I would call off the fight. However, I simply stand with my arms crossed and remain silent. Eric would not allow me to do so anyways, because ultimately, Eric's authority is greater than my own. They continue to circle each other for a few more seconds.

"Do you think this is a leisure activity?" Eric shouts, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of action present in the arena. "Should we break for nap time? Fight each other!"

"But..." Al starts. "Is it scored of something? When does the fight end?"

"It ends when one of you is unable to continue," says Eric.

"According to Dauntless rules," I interject, "one of you could also concede."

Eric narrows his eyes at me. "According to the _old_ rules," he corrects me. "In the _new_ rules, no one concedes."

"A brave man acknowledges the strengths of others." I reply.

"A brave man never surrenders." he shoots back.

I stare at him and wonder how two completely different people with such different views can reside in the same faction. Isn't the purpose of the factions to unite those who share the same beliefs? Dauntless sought to eradicate cowardice, but how is that possible when the simple meaning of word differs from person to person?

I know any further efforts of rebuttal are futile. Eric is a Dauntless leader, and what Eric says, goes. I sigh and turn my attention back to the arena.

"This is ridiculous," Al says, shaking his head. "What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"

"Oh, you think it's going to be that easy?" Will teases. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."

Will is determined, I can see that. He might actually have a chance if he can evade any future punches to the head.

Al throws a fist in Will's direction, and Will ducks. He dodges another punch, slips around Al, and kicks him hard in the back. Al staggers forward, then turns around to face Will. He charges at him, grabs his arm, and punches him hard in the jaw. Will's eyes roll back into his head and he crumples in a pile on the floor. Al's eyes widen in shock as he crouches down and gently taps Will's cheek. I know he didn't mean to knock Will out cold, but what choice did he have? Will lies unresponsive to Al's prodding for a few seconds, then he opens his eyes and blinks a few times, clearly confused.

"Get him up," Eric says. He stares greedily at Will's crumpled body.

I turn to the chalkboard and circle Al's name, marking his victory.

"Next up - Molly and Christina!" Eric announces. Al pulls Will's arm across his shoulders and drags him out of the arena to clear up the space for the next pair.

I saunter over to Al and take Will off his shoulder. Although I feel uneasy leaving the initiates with Eric, someone has to take Will to the infirmary. I sling Will's arm across my shoulder, wrap my arm around his waist, and guide him out of the room. With one last look, I shut the door and leave the fighting behind. At least until tomorrow.

* * *

><p><strong>Gah, I have got to start updating more often! Any-who, a huge thank you to everyone who's still following my story. <strong>

**As always, review, comment, suggest, etc. I love reading everyone's feedback.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**BYEEEEE xx**


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as I walk into the doors of the training room, I find myself drenched in dread and anxiety. On the chalkboard are two names written beside each other that reflexively make my palms sweat and my heart beat faster. Two names that represent two people who couldn't possibly be more physically different than the other. Tris and Peter. By the looks of it, Eric is trying to kill the initiates before they are initiated.

The doors of the training room swing open as the initiates start to pile in. My eyes instinctively find Tris's face, who stops mid-step when she sees the pairings written on the board. I know she has no chance against Peter, and she knows that as well.

The first fight of the day is between Molly and Edward. They step into the arena while everyone else gathers around it. I take a step back and lean against the wall.

Molly and Edward have both proven yesterday that they are good fighters, but Edward is more agile, giving him the upper hand. By the end of the fight, Molly is only half conscious, trying to peel herself off of the floor with no success.

I watch Tris and Peter make their way to the arena. Peter, his face full of smugness, and Tris, growing paler with each step. Even from where I stand, I can hear Peter's remarks.

"You okay there, Stiff?" he says. "You look like you're about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry."

I glower at him even though he can't see me. Looks like he still hasn't learned when to keep his mouth shut. Behind me, Eric taps his foot, as if to remind not just me, but everyone of his presence in the room.

Peter brings his hands up to his face and bends his knees, like a cat ready to spring.

"Come on, Stiff," he pushes. "Just one little tear. Maybe some begging."

Tris attempts to kick him in the side, but he grabs her foot and yanks it forward. Tris smacks into the floor but scrambles up quickly.

"Stop playing with her," snaps Eric. "I don't have all day."

In a flash, Peter punches Tris's jaw, sending her reeling to the side of the arena. He darts in front of her before she's able to regain her balance, and kicks her hard in the stomach. Tris lies on the floor, trying to push herself up, but Peter is one step ahead of her. He grabs her hair with one hand, and punches her in the nose with the other. I flinch. Blood pours down her face instantly. She tries to fend him off by slapping his arms, but her feeble attempt doesn't work. He punches her again, this time in the ribs, and shoves her to the ground.

I don't know how, but she manages to drag herself to her feet. Peter spins around her and hits her from the side, which almost knocks her over again.

Tris reaches out and punches Peter, her fist making contact with his side. Peter barely even groans. Instead, he smacks her ear with the flat of his palm, laughing under his breath while doing so.

I can't take it anymore. I shove the door open and storm out. I don't want to just stand there and watch Peter beat the living daylight out of Tris, but that's all I can do. Truthfully, I don't even know what I'm going to do out here. Certainly, leaving Eric in charge isn't a great idea, but I can't stand to watch Tris get hurt without feeling the need to protect her.

What's going on with me?

Not even a minute has passed when I hear it. The high screech coming from the training room that makes my heart jump to my throat.

I rush through the doors to see Peter kicking Tris, who is lying on the floor. His foot slams into her side again and again, and that's when I snap.

"Enough!" I yell.

Peter snaps his head around, foot hanging mid air, wearing a look of triumph on his face that I surely would have wiped off if Eric wasn't in the room.

I shoot both Peter and Eric a look of disgust, then walk over to Tris, gently slide my arms under her neck and legs and carry her off to the infirmary.

* * *

><p><strong>Crappy way to end it, I know. Sorry ):<strong>

**Anyways, I'm done finals (yay) so you know what I'm going to do? Write all day and all night!**

**Read, review, criticise, comment, etc. **

**A big thank you to everyone who's read this and I guess I'll say happy holidays now in case I don't get a chance to update before the 25th (:**


	6. Chapter 6

I stand by the train tracks at the front of the group, waiting for the next train to take us to the city boundaries. In the distance, the chugging sound of an approaching train can be heard.

When the train nears, I break out into a light jog. I let a few initiates struggle onto the train before I reach for a handle on the side and hoist myself into the car smoothly. Once inside, I turn back to the car's opening to watch the rest of the initiates. I see Tris jogging next to the car. When she reaches for the handle, she winces, and for a second, I worry about her. Will she be able to jump a moving train after the injuries she sustained yesterday? I almost consider reaching out and helping her into the car when Al grabs her under each arm and lifts her in.

Almost immediately, Peter seizes his chance to ridicule Tris. "Feeling okay there?" he says, his lips turned down, arches eyebrows pulled in, giving her a look of mock sympathy. "Or are you a little…_Stiff_?"

He bursts into laughter at what he must consider to be a clever joke. Molly and Drew join in automatically. I can't stand their little clique.

"We are all awed by your incredible wit," Will retorts.

"Yeah, are you sure you don't belong with the Erudite, Peter?" Christina adds. "I hear they don't object to sissies."

I don't have the patience and will to listen to their bickering all day. At times, it feels a lot like I'm babysitting a group of immature children rather than sixteen year old initiates.

I speak before Peter has a chance to reply. "Am I going to have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?"

Everyone falls silent, finally. I turn back to the car's opening, grip the handles on either side and lean forward so my body is mostly outside of the car. The wind whips my face and presses my shirt to my chest. I breathe in the air and, for the first time in a while, feel a sense of freedom that the underground cavern of the Dauntless compound does not offer. My eyes wander to the distant skylines, trying to find the grey outline of buildings that make up the Abnegation faction, but I find nothing. Instead, I watch as a sea of crumbling, abandoned buildings drift farther and farther away as the train carries us to the edge of the city.

Behind me, I hear Tris's voice above the noise of the wind.

"What do you think is out there?" she asks. "I mean, beyond the fence."

"Monsters!" Christina teases.

"We didn't even have guards near the fence until five years ago," Will says. "Don't you remember when Dauntless police used to patrol the factionless sector?"

"Yes," Tris replies.

She must have seen them all the time. After all, Abnegations have to pass the factionless sector to get to school. I still remember the numerous times I've walked past it. There are buses that run to and from school, but they crowd easily, and I've never been fond of enclosed spaces, so I prefered walking.

"Oh, right," Will says. "I bet you saw them all the time."

"Why do you say that?" Tris asks sharply.

"Because you had to pass the factionless sector to get to school, right?"

"What did you do, memorize a map of the city for fun?" says Christina.

"Yes," says Will apprehensively. "Didn't you?"

The train's brake squeal and everyone lurches forward as the car slows. The scene before me has changed significantly. Yellow fields and train tracks have replaced the worn down buildings. The train stops under an awning. I jump from the car onto the grass that surrounds the tracks.

In front of me is a chain-link fence with barbed wire strung along the top. It stretches on into the horizon. Past the fence stands a cluster of trees, most of which are dead. Dauntless guards carrying guns pace the perimeter of the fence on the other side.

"Follow me," I say.

I lead the group towards the gate, which is as wide as a house. This is the entrance to the city. A cracked road extends from the city to the Amity farms beyond the gate.

"If you don't rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you will probably end up here," I explain once we reach the gate. "Once you are a fence guard, there is some potential for advancement, but not much. You may be able to go on patrols beyond Amity's farms, but – "

"Patrols for what purpose?" asks Will.

I shrug. "I suppose you'll discover that if you find yourself amongst them. As I was saying. For the most part, those who guard the fence when they are young continue to guard the fence. If it comforts you, some of them insist that it isn't as bad as it seems."

"What rank were you?" Peter asks me.

I look levelly at him and tell him, "I was first."

"And you chose to do _this_?" Peter's eyes widen in disbelief. "Why didn't you get a government job?"

"I didn't want one," I say flatly.

The Dauntless have limited job options. We can guard the fence or work for the security of our city, take up a job in the Dauntless compound, fight for entertainment, or work for the Dauntless leaders. Since ranks are directly related to job privileges, I was offered the best one – a government position. To everyone's surprise, I opted for a job in the control room, where I monitor the city security. The government job then went to the second highest ranking initiate, Eric. Many of my friends still insist that I should take over Eric's position, but I don't want his responsibilities to fall on my shoulders.

We come to a stop next to the gate. The guards pull open the doors to admit a truck. The driver wears a hat, a beard, and a smile. He stops just inside the gate and gets out, allowing the guards to do their routine inspection. The back of the truck is open, where a few other Amity are sitting on crates which appear to carry apples. I wonder if apple picking is a part of their initiation.

"Beatrice?" one of the Amity boys says.

Tris's head jerks around at the sound of what must be her full name.

Beatrice. It suits her. Or it used to. It suited the girl that wore oversized, grey clothes and put others before herself. It suited Abnegation. Beatrice means 'voyager through life'. I guess she's leaving Beatrice behind and traveling onto the next part of her life as Tris.

The boy hops down from the trucks and, after a moment of hesitation, embraces Tris in his arms.

I look away and turn my face towards the vast stretch of land that lies beyond the fence.

The wind carries bits and pieces of Tris's conversation to me and I can't help but eavesdrop.

"…just training. Nothing." She says.

"_Beatrice?_" Molly demands in her nasally voices and laughs. "Is that your real name, Stiff?"

"What did you _think_ Tris was short for?"

"Oh, I don't know… weakling? Oh wait, _that_ doesn't start with Tris. My mistake."

"There's no need to antagonize her," the boy says, so softly that I almost didn't catch it. "I'm Robert, and you are?"

"Someone who doesn't care what your name is," Molly snaps. "Why don't you get back in your truck? We're not supposed to fraternize with other faction members."

I hate to admit it, but Molly is right. Interacting with other faction members is discouraged because Dauntless takes the phrase 'faction before blood' very seriously. Any attachment to members of other factions indicate that you are not entirely satisfied with your decision of choosing Dauntless. Tris has a knack for being imprudent and unwise, and I'm worried that her actions will affect her initiation process.

My eyes wander beyond the fences. The land stretches on to infinity, yet we are fenced in like animals. What is it like to be on the other side? What is it like to not be governed by the factions? I snap out of my reverie when a female guards strolls by. I recognize her face; she was in my initiate group!

"Blair!" I call out.

Her head snaps around at the sound of her name.

"Four! I feel like I haven't seen you in years! How have you been?"

"Same old, just showing the new group around." I say, motioning towards the initiates behind me. "How about you?"

"You know, it's the same routine every day. It feels boring and repetitive at times, but it really isn't as bad as people make it out to be...looks like they're finished examining the truck." She says, nodding towards the guards who are now exiting the truck and returning to their post.

I turn and watch the driver and the boy climb back into the truck. A girl in the back starts to strum the banjo on her lap as the truck starts forward. The Dauntless guards close the gate and lock it behind them. I've always found it strange that the gates lock on the outside rather than the inside. I wonder if anyone else has noticed it. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but it seems like they are keeping us in rather than keeping something out.

I say goodbye to Blair, step away from the fence and make my way over to Tris. I stop a foot away from her and say, "I am worried that you have a knack for making unwise decisions."

She crosses her arms. "It was a two-minute conversation."

"I don't think a smaller time frame makes it any less unwise." I furrow my eyebrows and brush the corner of her bruised eye with my fingertips. She jerks her head back, but I don't take my hand away.

I tilt my head back and sigh. "You know, if you could just learn to attack first, you might do better."

"Attack first?" she says. "How will that help?"

"You're fast. If you can get a few good hits in before they know what's going on, you could win." I shrug and let my hand fall to my side.

"I'm surprised you know that," she says quietly, "since you left halfway through my one and only fight."

She noticed me leave. I sigh and admit, "It wasn't something I wanted to watch."

She falls silent, though I'm dying to know what she's thinking.

A few seconds later, I clear my throat. "Looks like the next train is here. Time to go, Tris."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello and happy new year!<strong>

**Again, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time out of their day to read this!**

**Review, comment, give me suggestions, etc. I'm open to anything (well, most things)!**

**Until next time...bye (:**


	7. Chapter 7

At a quarter to midnight, I, along with Eric and several other Dauntless, burst into the initiates' dormitory, brandishing flashlights and shining them into the faces of initiates who are on the verge of falling asleep.

"Everybody up!" Eric roars.

All around me, flustered people in pajamas are springing from their beds, obviously startled by our unexpected entrance.

I see Tris's eyes scanning the crowd, looking for me. Her eyes meet with mine, and for a moment, she gets lost in the sea of movement.

"Did you go deaf, Stiff?" barks Eric.

She snaps out of her daze and stumbles out of bed.

"You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us by the tracks." Eric says. "We're going on another field trip."

With that, I turn my back to the room, push open the door, and head for the train tracks that lay just outside of the Dauntless compound.

Within minutes, I hear rushed footsteps hurrying towards us. The transfers make it to the tracks just after the Dauntless-borns.

"Everyone grab a gun!" shouts Eric.

Both groups rush toward the pile of guns cluttered on the ground and stumble over each other in an attempt to secure a gun before everyone else.

"Time estimate?" Eric asks me.

I check my watch. "Any minute now. How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?"

"Why should I, when I have you to remind me of it?" Eric says, giving my shoulder a shove.

Just as expected, the distant light from an approaching train appears on my left. It grows closer and closer, chugging along on the tracks. When it reaches us, I grab a handle and haul myself into one of the cars. I look back and see Tris running alongside the train, not bothering to check whether or not Christina and Will are following. I extend a hand toward her and pull her in. As soon as she sets foot in the car, she lets go of my arm and sits down on the other side of the car without so much as a glance in my direction.

What's with her? Have I done something to upset her?

I push the thought away and turn to address the initiates once everyone has successfully made it onto the train.

"We'll be dividing into two teams to play capture the flag. Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will get off and do the same." The car sways and I have to hold onto the side of the doorway to steady myself. "This is a Dauntless tradition," I continue. "So I suggest you take it seriously."

"What do we get if we win?" someone shouts.

Really?

"Sounds like the kind of question someone not from Dauntless would ask," I say, raising an eyebrow. "You get to win, of course."

"Four and I will be your team captains," Eric says, glancing at me. "Let's divide up transfers first, shall we?"

"You go first," I offer.

Eric shrugs. "Edward."

Typical. For Eric, it will always be brawn over brain, rather than brain over brawn. Capture the flag takes more than a team of those who excel physically. It takes strategy. I learned that during my own initiation.

I scan the group of transfers and make my choice. "I want the Stiff."

A few people chuckle at what they must consider to be an absurd decision on my part.

"Got something to prove?" Eric asks, sneering. "Or are you just picking the weak ones so that if you lose, you'll have someone to blame it on?"

I shrug. "Something like that." Let him think what he wants. "Your turn."

"Peter."

"Christina."

"Molly."

"Will," I say while biting my thumbnail.

"Al."

"Drew."

"Last one left is Myra. So she's with me," says Eric. "Dauntless born initiates next."

For the next few minutes we divide up the Dauntless-born initiates; Eric picking the ones who are broad and strong, I the ones who are slim and small.

"Your team can get off second," Eric tells me.

"Don't do me any favours," I reply, smirking all the while because I know Eric's tactics aren't going to work. "You know I don't need them to win."

"No, I know that you'll lose no matter when you get off," says Eric while chewing on one of his lip rings. I have always hated them. "Take your scrawny team and get off first, then."

The initiates stand up when I do.

I jump when the train is about to dip to the ground, running a couple of step when my feet hit the hard soil to avoid toppling over from the momentum.

Someone comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. "When you team won, where did you put the flag?"

"Telling you wouldn't really be in the spirit of the exercise, Marlene," I say coolly.

"Come on, Four," she whines and smiles at me flirtatiously. I don't know what kind of person she thinks I am, but that kind of tactic hardly ever works on me. I brush her hand off my arm and walk away. I can almost feel her glare burning into the back of my head.

"Navy Pier," Uriah, one of the Dauntless-born initiates calls out. "My brother was on the winning team. They kept the flag at the carousel."

"Let's go there, then," suggests Will.

No one opposes, so we set off eastward, toward the marsh that was once a lake.

I wonder how long it has been since the lake dried up. Ten years? Fifty years? I wonder if it has seen the days before society split into factions. I don't know why, but I often find myself engrossed with thoughts about the time before factions existed, trying to fabricate from my imagination a world that isn't governed by factions. Life always seems better that way. It's not good to have these thoughts. I will never voice them, of course; the officials don't like people who question the system. So, once again, I push my thoughts away and keep them hidden within the depth of my mind until they venture out again the next time I find myself wondering.

We come across a bridge that provides a path over a dried up river. The mud beneath it is too wet to walk on; that's why the bridge was built.

Once we cross the bridge, the city changes. Ahead lies a sea of broken glass and buildings that have deteriorated over time. An eerie silence spreads from the crumbling ruins and seeps into my skin. This place feels like a living nightmare. The streets are completely dark because it's after midnight, and all of the city lights are off.

Behind me, someone flips on a flashlight and shines it at the street in front of us.

"Scared of the dark, Mar?" Uriah teases.

"If you want to step on broken glass, Uriah, be my guest." Marlene snaps. But she turns off the flashlight anyway.

Ah, such is the life of a Dauntless. We are forever more concerned with our pride than anything else.

Finally, we reach the carousel. Some of the horses are worn and weathered, their tails broken off or their saddles chipped. I take the flag out of my pocket.

"In ten minutes, the other team will pick their location," I tell them. "I suggest you take this time to formulate a strategy. We may not be Erudite, but mental preparedness is one aspect of your Dauntless training. Arguably, it is the most important aspect."

Will walks up to me and takes the flag from my hands. "Some people should stay here and guard, and some people should go out and scout the other team's location." He says.

"Yeah? You think? Marlene interjects, snatching the flag from Will. "Who put you in charge, transfer?"

"No one," says Will. "But someone's got to do it."

"Maybe we should develop a more defensive strategy. Wait for them to come to us, then take them out." Christina suggests.

"That's the sissy way out," Uriah objects. "I vote we go all out. Hide the flag well enough that they can't find it."

The group explodes into conversation, each yelling louder than the previous person to make their voices heard. I take a seat on the edge of the carousel and wait for the bickering to come to a conclusion. Leaning back against the foot of a plastic horse, I lift my eyes to the sky only to find that there are no stars visible tonight, only a round moon peeking through a thin layer of clouds.

Although reading is prohibited by Abnegation because it is considered a form of self-indulgence, I used to sneak books into my room and read them at night. I enjoyed reading all kinds of myths about constellations; warriors and their beasts that inhabit the night sky. The world beyond the clouds fascinated me like no other. It's hard to imagine a time when people were encouraged to conjure up such fantasies.

I am so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost don't notice Tris slip away from the group. Curiosity got the best of me, so I trailed behind her to find out what she is up to. She stops before the Ferris wheel and inspects the rungs of a ladder that climb up the wheel and stops at a platform just below the center.

She's about to climb it when I speak out.

"Tris."

My voice doesn't startle her. She turns around to look at me. "Yes?" she asks.

"I came to find out what you think you're doing."

"I'm seeking higher ground," she tells me. "I don't _think_ I'm doing anything."

Of course. The higher you are, the easier it will be to spot the target. She's sensible, and I can't help but smile at her cleverness. "All right. I'm coming."

"I'll be fine," Tris says.

"Undoubtedly," I say, and really, I don't doubt for a minute her capability.

She starts climbing and I follow after her when she's a few feet off the ground. I notice I'm faster than her. I catch up quickly, and soon, my hands find the rungs that her feet leave.

"So tell me…," I say quietly. "What do you think the purpose of this exercise is? The game, I mean, not the climbing."

My eyes drop to the pavement that is slowly falling farther and farther away. Panic grips me, but I don't let it control me. I've confronted this fear many times in my fear landscape, hoping to eventually overcome it, but I've yet to succeed.

"Learning about strategy," says Tris. "Teamwork, maybe."

"Teamwork," I scoff at the thought. Maybe a few years earlier, this would have been about teamwork. Not anymore. Not with Eric in charge.

"Maybe not," she contemplates. "Teamwork doesn't seem to be a Dauntless priority."

"It's supposed to be a priority. It used to be."

The gentle breeze that I felt on the ground is picking as we climb higher and higher up the ladder. My throat seems to have grown swollen. I struggle to keep my breathing even. Each gulp of air sticks to the inside of my throat, like burrs that cling to my clothes in the fields that I used to play in.

"Now tell me…" I struggle out. "What do you think learning strategy has to do with…bravery?"

Tris pauses for a moment. A cloud passes over the moon and I watch the light shift across her hair, carefully illuminating strands of her wavy blonde hair.

"It…it prepares you to act," she answers. "You learn strategy so you can use it."

At this point, my breaths are coming in heavy, ragged gasps.

"Are you alright, Four?"

"Are you _human_, Tris? Being up this high…" I gulp. "It doesn't scare you at all?"

Tris looks over her shoulder at the ground, surveying, for the first time since we started climbing, just how far from the ground we are. Before she has time to answer, a gust of wind throws her body off balance and she has to cling to the rungs to keep from falling. Without hesitation, I wrap my hand around one of her hips, one of my fingers catching a strip of bare skin just under the hem of her t-shirt, and guide her body back onto the ladder. My skin tingles where I made contact with hers. I can feel my heartbeat picking up pace, and I'm fairly certain that height isn't the only contributing factor now.

"You okay?" I murmur.

"Yes," she reassures.

We climb in silence until we reach the platform. Tris sits down and scoots to the end to make room for me. She dangles her legs over the edge while I crouch and press my back against the metal support, distancing myself from the edge of the platform. I watch Tris perch effortlessly on the edge, as if the height is nonexistent.

She turns to me and says, "You're afraid of height. How do you survive in the Dauntless compound?"

"I ignore my fear," I tell her. "When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn't exist."

I look out at the vast expanse of the city below, but I can feel her eyes lingering on my face.

"What?" I whisper.

"Nothing."

"We're not high enough," Tris says.

I beg to differ.

She looks up to examine the structure above us. I follow her gaze upward and notice how worn down the Ferris wheel is. However, if your hands and feet find the right places, it's not impossible to climb higher.

"I'm going to climb." She stands up and reaches for one of the bars overhead.

"For God's sake, Stiff." I groan.

"You don't have to follow me."

Tris pauses for a second and contemplates her next move. She wedges her foot onto the place where two bars cross and pushes herself up, grabbing another bar in the process. She sways for a second, and my heart skips a beat. I have to go up with her. Every instinct in my body is telling me otherwise, that it is an unwise decision, but I can't risk Tris climbing up the wheel alone.

"Yes I do," I tell her.

Slowly, we inch up the Ferris wheel. One wrong move and both of us can end up dead on the pavement below. I fix my gaze upward towards the sky, concentrating only on where to place my hands and feet. Occasionally my thoughts wander to Tris, who is just one step ahead of me. Her presence is keeping me sane. If it is possible to forget, just for one second, the height and the fact that we are risking our lives climbing a rusted and unstable Ferris wheel, this almost feels peaceful. Just me, her, the whole world below us, and the stars above. A gentle breeze brushes against my cheek and I steer my thoughts back on track.

Unexpectedly, Tris stops climbing and squints into the distance. "See that?" she says, pointing at a tiny pulsing light way out in the distance.

"Yeah," I say, a smile spreading across my face. We found the other team's hiding spot!

"It's coming from the park at the end of the pier," I say. "Figures. It's surrounded by open space, but the trees provide some camouflage. Obviously not enough."

"Okay…um," Tris clears her throat. "Start climbing down. I'll follow you."

I nod and start the descent.

Climbing down is a lot easier than climbing up. I effortlessly find places for my feet and I'm able to guide my body down with ease. Even so, my hands grip the bars so tightly that they turn red and start shaking in fear that one loose grip will send me plummeting to the pavement. Above me, I can hear Tris navigating her way between the bars.

A loud clanging noise catches my attention and I look up just in time to duck out of the way of a metal bar that has come loose. It clatters against half a dozen bars on the way down before dropping onto the pavement. I turn my attention to Tris and the sight before me sends a wave of horror through my body.

Tris dangles in midair, her feet frantically searching for a foothold but the nearest one is a few feet away and out of her reach. My heartbeats drum so loud in my head that I can hardly think rationally, but I know I have to act fast.

Tris's eyes fill with terror as she suppresses a scream.

She's slipping.

* * *

><p><strong>I split this into two parts because, well, I was pushing 3000 words haha.<br>Thank you for sticking through this extremely long chapter. I hope you liked it!**

**Review, comment, do your thing.**

**A huge thank you to everyone who has read, alerted and favourited this story! You guys are awesome!**


	8. Chapter 8

In that moment, it's as if every sense in me has been carried away by the wind like a dandelion fluff in the fall. I don't dare let my eyes wander from Tris, fearing that her grip will falter the second I steer my attention away from her, as if I'm mentally freezing her in place. Desperation is creeping up on me; she can only hang on for so long, which means I have to act fast. My head whips around as I take in my surroundings – and that's when I see it. My eyes focus in on it like a security camera picking up something unusually peculiar that doesn't quite belong. I must have missed it the first time I walked by because I was so focused on Tris, but there it is, tucked away in a corner of dust and rust are the controls that used to power the Ferris wheel. I have no idea whether or not they still work after all these years, but it's worth a try.

"Four!" Tris yells with increasing desperation.

"Hold on!" I shout. "Just hold on. I have an idea."

I fumble my way down the metal structure, nearly losing my grip a few times in my haste. As soon as my feet hit solid ground, I make a run for the controls.

"Four!" Tris yells again.

_Hang in there Tris; I'm going to get you down._

My eyes sweep over the control panel as I try to make sense of the multicoloured buttons. I jam the heel of my palm into the power button and press down on another one labeled "start". For a few seconds, nothing happens. All I hear are my laboured breaths forcing their way out of my chest and through my gritted teeth as I realize how naïve I was to have believed the Ferris wheel would still be able to work after years and years of rust have crept onto its structures and torn its mechanics apart.

But of course, I was wrong.

My attention snaps back to the Ferris wheel as the metal begins wheezing and groaning. With a great shudder, the machine comes back to life like a great beast resurrected from the dead.

I watch it carry Tris closer and closer to the ground. When she's close enough to the concrete, she lets go of the metal bar she's been clinging to and drops onto the ground, rolling several times to steer clear of a car bearing down on her.

She lies on the ground and presses her hands to her face. I hurry over to where she is, wrap my hands gently around her wrists and pry her hands away from her face to make sure she is not seriously hurt. I encase one of her hands in both of mine and stroke the back of her palm.

"You all right?" I ask.

"Yeah."

An overwhelming sense of relief fills my body and I can't help feeling an inappropriate urge to laugh. Tris looks at me in bewilderment, but her expression changes as she fails to suppress a giggle. Moments later, the silence is ringing with the sound of our laughter.

With her free hand, she pushes herself up into a sitting position. I am suddenly aware of how little space there is between us. I can see every detail of her face. Her pale blue eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, shine brighter than all of the lights in the city combined. Her eyelashes flutter when she blinks and the corners of her lips naturally curl down, like mine.

I stand, pulling Tris up with me. The moving Ferris wheel behind her creates a wind that sends her hair tumbling around her face.

"You could have told me that the Ferris wheel still worked," she says casually, trying to hide the accusation in her voice. "We wouldn't have had to climb in the first place.

"I would have, if I had known," I say. "Couldn't just let you hang there, so I took a risk. Come on, time to get their flag."

I hesitate awkwardly for a moment before placing my hand on her arm and steering her body to stand next to mine. I flash a quick smile in her direction and start running back towards the carousel, where the rest of our team is guarding the flag.

As we near the carousel, I see that only half of the team is present. Christina is perched on one of the horses, guarding the flag which is resting on the back of another plastic horse behind her. The rest of the Dauntless-borns have scattered out around the carousel. The vacant expressions on their faces tell me nothing exciting has happened since I left with Tris.

"Where'd the others go?" I ask.

Lauren, who was absent-mindedly scratching her pierced eyebrow a moment ago, snaps out of her reverie and turns on me.

"Did you guys turn on the wheel?" she barks. "What the hell are you thinking? You might as well have just shouted 'Here we are! Come and get us!'" she shakes her head at me, fuming at the thought that this may be her third consecutive year of losing capture the flag. "If I lose again this year, the shame will be unbearable. Three years in a row?"

"The wheel doesn't matter," I can barely contain my excitement. "We know where they are."

"We?" Christina says, her eyes flitting back and forth between Tris and I.

"Yes, while the rest of you were twiddling your thumbs, Tris climbed the Ferris wheel to look for the other team," I tell them.

"What do we do now, then?"

I turn my attention to Tris. This, after all, is an exercise for the initiates.

Everyone fixes their eyes on her. The attention catches Tris off-guard and she looks like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She hesitates for a second, not quite sure where to begin, but then the words start tumbling out as if she's known the plan all along.

"Split in half," she says. "Four of us go to the right side of the pier, three to the left. The other team is in the park at the end of the pier, so the group of four will charge as the group of three sneaks up behind the other team to get the flag."

"Sounds good," Lauren claps her hands together in approval. "Let's get this night over with, shall we?"

The initiates split up into two groups, like Tris instructed, and set off towards the Pier. I trail a few meters behind Tris, Christina, Uriah and another Dauntless-born, who rounds up the group of four heading in from the right side. Christina's long legs carry her forward faster than everyone else so Tris has to run twice as fast to match her stride.

When we reach the end of the pier, I pull my gun, which has been slung across my back, onto my shoulder and hook a finger around the trigger. My breaths come in ragged gasps and my heart rattles against my chest from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I work hard to keep my breathing as quiet as possible to avoid alerting the other team of our presence.

Then a chorus of yells sounds as the other team charge us from the edge of the trees. Paintballs whizz by in the air making spattering noises when they hit their intended and unintended targets. The other half of my team charges from behind and catches Eric's team by surprise. I pull the trigger on my gun and hit an unaware initiate square in the stomach. She drops her gun and stumbles over from the impact. The flag is almost unguarded. Uriah aims and shoots the last guard in the thigh. The initiate, an obvious Dauntless-born with bright purple hair, throws her gun down to the ground in a fit of temper at the fact that her team has been defeated.

Christina and Tris stand beneath the branch that has been the flag's safe house. They both reach for the flag, but Christina, being the taller one, swipes the flag from the branch before Tris has a chance to snatch it and lets out a cry of victory. Behind me, a chorus of yells can be heard from the rest of my team who are basking in the glory of our triumph.

The shouts of victory become contagious as Tris and Christina run over to embrace their teammates. The two groups collide midway and I feel the corners of my mouth curl up into a triumphant grin that marks yet another successful game of capture the flag.

Christina is quickly engulfed by the group of elated initiates who are all grabbing her arm to lift the flag higher in the air to show the world their symbol of success.

Tris stays off to the side, but she's standing just close enough for the glow from the flag to illuminate her face. The corners of her mouth are turned upwards in a wide, beaming grin. Happiness radiates off of her and awakens something deep within me. It spreads through my veins from my chest to the tip of my toes, warming my entire body. Heat rushes to my face and I press the tips of my fingers, which are chilly from the night air, against my flushed cheeks to cool them.

I walk over and gently place a hand on her shoulder.

"Well done," I congratulate her quietly.

She looks up at me, the ghost of her smile still lingering on her face. I can see the reflection of the moon in her eyes. A gentle breeze tickles my cheek and I pick up the faint sound of crickets chirping from somewhere through the trees. It's hard to believe the rest of the city was asleep while we were out here fighting for our hard earned victory. After the excitement has subsided, I realize just how tired and worn out I feel.

Everything seems to recede away at once. All the voices intermingle and become indistinguishable from one another – like the constant bustle of life that fills the city when nightfall comes, even after people have fallen asleep. There is a steady current of electricity that fills the air and charges it with energy, the energy from every being. It is so constant that I hardly notice it. But tonight, it jolts me awake and makes everyone and everything look vivid and clear and a thousand times brighter than they should be.

I try to take a snapshot of this night – try to capture every sense and feeling with it and lock it up in my memory, tucked away in a little corner where it will remain, for my eyes only.

* * *

><p><strong>Uhhhhhmm yeah, this took me a while to write...got a bad case of writer's block for a good half of the chapter but I did it! I finished!<strong>

**As always, I'm open to criticism and I appreciate every comment, alert, and favourite! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter (:**


	9. Chapter 9

I'm startled when I hear the door slam shut. Eric strides into the training room, looking as vicious as ever. Last night's loss must have been quite a devastating blow to his ego; after all, it's not the first time his team has lost to mine.

I take in his rigid stance and suppress a laugh, mentally kicking myself at the same time for having the innate ability to find everything funny at the most inappropriate times.

"Got something to say?" he turns on me.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there." I back up, raising my arms up in mock surrender. "Just wanted to say good morning."

He scoffs and throws a spiteful glare in my direction, not bothering with a response.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the initiates appear at the door and shuffle into the room.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric begins. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives, and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

The room stays still, as if they're all too tired to comprehend Eric's instructions.

"Now!"

At once, the room is set into motion. Everyone scrambles for daggers while sneaking nervous glances at Eric, fearing that he might explode if they don't move fast enough.

He stands between the group of initiates and me, head bobbing back and forth, throwing poisonous glances in my direction when he catches me distracted by the blur of motion in the room.

When everyone has gotten a grip on things, I position myself in front of my target and take aim, recalling the words my instructor spoke to me during my initiation.

_Eyes on the target, feet apart, and a quick, but strong flick of the wrist._

The knives flash by in the air so quickly that I don't even see their paths of flight. One by one, the knives transport themselves from my hand to the target, thudding heavily every time it buries itself in one of the red and white circles.

"Line up!" Eric bellows.

His voice sends everyone scrambling in frenzy. It is a known fact that Eric is not usually a pleasant person to be around, but today, his temper has increased tenfold. Every whisper and every movement seems to send electric shocks through his body which only increases his irritation.

Shortly after Eric's outburst, the initiates, knives in hand, begin to mimic the motions that I demonstrated a few moments ago. It's as if the initiates have suddenly disappeared from the room and have been replaced with nine duplicates of myself during my initiation - hesitant, eyes unconfident and quite awkward with a deadly weapon in hand. The only person who has yet to take a shot at their target is Tris. For the past few minutes, she has been practicing the motions, both with and without a knife. I watch her with growing curiosity.

"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" Peter remarks at Tris's inactivity. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a _knife_ is?"

Tris ignores Peter's jeering and continues without a glance in his direction. Peter, obviously feeling superior, whips his knife confidently in the direction of his target, only to have it fall short a few feet to the left.

"Hey, Peter," Tris taunts back. "Remember what a _target_ is?"

I laugh quietly to myself, feeling kind of proud of Tris's growing confidence, even though I'm not the one who set the change into motion.

Over the course of thirty minutes, everyone besides Al has managed to hit their target at least once. I can almost feel the anxiety radiating from his body. It's okay to fall behind the group a bit – I understand that. Everyone has strengths and weakness, which means some people take a little longer to grasp certain skills than others. But with Eric pacing constantly behind you, making note of every mistake you make, ready to ridicule you at a moment's notice, the task at hand becomes ten times more daunting.

"How slow _are_ you, Candor?" Eric spits out. "Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

A bright shade of scarlet washes over Al's face. He throws another knife, but it misses the target by a few feet and sticks itself in the wall.

"What was that, initiate?" Eric hisses in his ear.

The entire room is holding their breath. This isn't good.

"It-it slipped," says Al.

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says. The room is absent of the thumping of knives hitting their intended targets. He glances around the room, noticing for the first time that every pair of eyes has been trained on him for the past couple of minutes. "Did I tell you to stop?"

Immediately, everyone regains their composure and starts practicing again, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room. It's as if the air is filled with electricity. A slight flick of the finger, one wrong move, and an overly loud whisper will send Eric exploding over the edge.

"Go get it?" Al's eyes are full of fear. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit."

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you." Eric smirks. "Go get your knife."

Usually, Al isn't one to object to anyone's commands, but the glint in his eyes tell me that's exactly what is going to happen this time. I see his jaws grinding together as he spits out the word that signals the end of his compliance.

"No."

"Why not?" Are you afraid?" Eric jeers.

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" says Al. "Yes I am!"

"Everyone stop!" Eric bellows.

All motion ceases, as if someone has pressed the pause button during the middle of a movie. If the initiates weren't listening to Eric and Al's hostile exchange before, they sure are now. Every pair of eyes is trained on them.

"Clear out of the ring." Eric keeps his eyes on Al. "All except you."

At once, the mass migrates from the middle of the room to form a single compact line pressed against the wall.

"Stand in front of the target," says Eric.

Al is shaking as he follows Eric's instructions.

"Hey, Four." Eric looks over his shoulder at me. "Give me a hand here, huh?"

_What is he trying to prove?_

"You're going to stand there as he throws those knives," Eric says to Al, "until you learn not to flinch."

"Is this really necessary?"

I know my rebuttal has no influence on Eric's decision.

He makes no attempt to cause a scene about my refusal to follow his instructions. Instead, he fixes his beady eyes on me, and I return his glare.

"I have the authority here, remember?" Eric hisses into my ear so quietly that I doubt anyone else can hear him. "Here, and everywhere else."

Of course.

He doesn't like to be challenged, never has. My confrontation, no matter how casual, set him on edge. He knows his position of power is temporary, and it forever will be. There will always be someone stronger, someone smarter, someone better suited for the role that he does not want to relinquish.

I focus on the ever-tightening grip on my knife to keep from lashing out at Eric about his meaningless and ruthlessness ways to test the initiates.

I turn to Al, who is now trembling with fear, ready – but reluctant - to carry out Eric's orders.

Everyone is holding their breath, like time is standing still and the next tick of the clock hasn't yet arrived. I wonder if it ever will. Then, two words slice through the silence: "_Stop_ it."

Tris.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Of all the rash and senseless things she could have done, this takes the cake. I glare at her, urging her not to say more.

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target," she continues. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of _cowardice_."

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric says. "If you're willing to take his place."

I let out an exasperated sigh as she weaves her way through the crowd of initiates. There will be plenty of chances to prove yourself, so why does it have to be _now_, Tris?

Al nods at her in encouragement as she takes his place. Where his body once covered a good chunk of the target, Tris barely tops the bull's-eye.

"If you flinch," I warn her slowly, "Al takes your place. Understand?"

She nods.

I draw my elbow back, my heart threatening to burst through my chest, and throw the knife. It plants itself half a foot away from her cheek, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"You about done, Stiff?" I ask.

Tris closes her eyes. "No."

"Eyes open, then." I tap the spot between my eyebrows. It's less terrifying if you are aware of exactly what is going on.

I scrutinize her every crook and angle, mapping out the area on the target that my knife absolutely cannot hit. I pull my arm back and send the second knife flying. This one hovering just above her head.

"Come on, Stiff," I say. "Let someone else stand there and take it."

"Shut _up_, Four!"

A flash of rage rises in me the moment she says those words. She doesn't get it. She doesn't understand that I'm reminding her why she can't fail – that if she chickens out, someone will have to take her place, someone who doesn't have the courage that she has. She doesn't realize that her selfless impulse hasn't been driven out yet. I glare at Tris, frustrated, willing her with my mind to understand that I'm trying to help her, not discourage her.

I send the knife tumbling towards her, and it lands with a thud, right above her ear. She reaches a hand up and I know the knife has found its intended target. I've nicked her ear.

"I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," Eric says lazily, his anger put to rest momentarily by the unexpected turn of events. "but I think that's enough for today."

I stay rooted to the spot as everyone shuffles around me out of the room and disperses in the hallway. The door shuts behind the last person, and I start towards Tris.

"Is your – " I begin.

"You did that on _purpose_!" she yells.

"Yes, I did," I mutter. "And you should thank me for helping you."

She grinds her teeth. "_Thank_ you? You almost stabbed my ear, and you spent the entire time taunting me. Why should I thank you?"

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!"

"Catch on? Catch on to what? That you wanted to prove to Eric how tough you are? That you're sadistic, just like he is?"

My heart sinks at those words. _Sadistic_. For so long, I have tried to separate myself from Eric, to prove to myself that there really is two sides to the Dauntless faction – the honourable side, and the ruthless side. After all of my efforts to stay true to what I believe in, Tris still thinks I belong to the latter.

"I am not sadistic." I say quietly, firmly. "If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have already?"

Rage bubbles up inside me and I can no longer bear to stay in the same room as the girl who I thought had enough sense in her to recognize and differentiate between the battling values of the Dauntless faction.

I turn my back to her, cover the room in three quick strides, slam the tip of my knife into the surface of a table and walk out the door.

"I – " Tris yells after me.

The door bangs shut before she has a chance to finish her sentence.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah sorry, I was going through intense writer's block, but I finally managed to squeeze this chapter out. I hope the writing wasn't too sloppy :S<strong>

**Review, comment, blah blah.**

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

Cool droplets of water splash from the rushing currents onto my face. The deafening roar of the chasm fills the space around me; it's the only thing I hear. The rushing water unfailingly drives my thoughts out of my head and carries them downstream.

For a few peaceful minutes, I sit with my head resting in my hand, staring at the water.

Tomorrow is the last day of stage one. Instinctively, I think back to my initiation – the anxiety and apprehension before the rankings were posted, and the pride that washed through me when I saw that my name filled the number one slot.

I make my way back to my room and collapse on my bed, exhausted. I hold my hands out above my face and run my fingers along the creases of my palms. In the wide, dark night, wind whistles, calling, crying out for something that has long been lost and buried in the rubble of ruined thoughts and wishes. I flip over and drift off slowly and quietly.

The next time I wake up, I am no longer in my bed.

I feel the warmth of the sun's rays before I see it shining through the window. As my eyes adjust, I make out the faint outline of a door frame in front of me.

I step out to the most amazing shade of blue above me. Fluffy white clouds float lazily across the sky, guided by an invisible force, each waiting for an imaginative mind to give meaning to its shape. Behind me stands a gleaming white mansion, grander and more glamourous than anything I have ever seen. I am surrounded by miles and miles of blossoming flowers. The colours go on forever and ever, stretching beyond the horizon and disappearing with the setting sun.

In this world, time seems to melt away faster than I can hold onto moments. It slips away like water gliding through the spaces between fingers. The sun falls over the horizon, stripping everything of their vibrance. The colours bleed away instantly, leaving only darkness behind. I notice a faint glow shining from a secluded part of the never-ending gardens. Carefully, I tread around the delicate flowers, slowly making my way towards the light.

What I find makes my breath catch in my throat.

An orange grove stretches out before me, extending miles and miles into the distance. Sparkling lanterns float in between the trees, bobbing up and down, side to side, shrouding the trees in their mesmerizing colours. I know I am alone in this world that I have created, but the air feels alive with the energy of a thousand suns. The stillness moves, without breath, without beating hearts. I reached out to a gleaming orange and gently brush it with my fingertips. To my dismay, it crumbles under my touch and gives away to nothing more than dust, floating in swirls, all brown and withering.

Instantly, everything disintegrates around me. The ground rushes up towards me and I fall into a tall field of soft grass. They knit around me like a comforting blanket. The sky above is painted with thousands of possibilities. I lose myself in the twinkling light and count the stars until I can't see straight.

I wonder if I had ever been a star, so faraway that I will never truly belong to this world.

Slowly, with the rhythm of the universe beating around me, I fall asleep.

X X X

I wake up again to the beeping of my alarm.

9:30 A.M.

I'm back in my bed.

If I close my eyes, the ghost of the dream still lingers in my mind.

Oranges. So many oranges tumbling from trees and hitting the ground with sickening thuds. Floating lanterns skirting around, dancing with each other and spewing glitter like fairy dust.

I push myself up off my bed and rub the sleep from my eyes.

Today is the last day of hand-to-hand combat, and the end of stage one.

A few initiates have already gathered in the training room when I walk in. Peter stands amongst them, looking all too eager to find out his fighting opponent – his target.

I scrawl the pairings onto the chalkboard.

Will and Myra.

Christina and Al.

Edward and Peter.

Tris and Molly.

Will and Myra is the first pair to step into the arena. Their fight starts off with both of them awkwardly shuffling around one another, both trying, but failing to make any physical contact.

After an uneventful fifteen minutes, the fight ends with Will as the victor.

The next fight between Christina and Al is quick and painless. After taking a few punches, Al lies on the ground and fails to get back up. From the corner of my eye, I see Eric shake his head.

Edward and Peter take longer. They're the best fighters in the group; however, their fighting styles differ. Edward is more trained and precise whereas Peter uses brute strength to his advantage.

By the time the three fights are done, my body is buzzing with anxiety and anticipation.

I hold my breath as Tris walks into the arena. She has the strength to win this fight. I know she does – but only if she remembers my advice and uses her strengths to her advantage.

"Was that a birthmark I saw on your left butt cheek?" Molly taunts. "God, you're pale, Stiff."

Molly lunges at Tris, her fist leading her body. Tris ducks under Molly's swinging arm and drives her fist into Molly's stomach. Before Molly has a chance to recover from the unexpected attack, Tris has already slipped away from her reach and prepared for her next attempt.

Molly, evidently driven by the unexpected turn of events, lunges at Tris and throws a second punch at her, only for it to be blocked by Tris.

An animal-like cry escapes her mouth. I unconsciously flinch at the noise.

In her frustration, Molly aims a sloppy kick at Tris's side, which Tris dodges with ease. Tris takes advantage of Molly's moment of vulnerability to shove her elbow into Molly's face, which Molly only narrowly dodges.

Molly's fist makes contact with Tris's ribs and sends her reeling to the side. There is a moment of hesitation between the two. I see Tris's eyes ever so slightly glance over her opponent's stance, and then they light up. They light up with the knowledge of Molly's weaknesses. They light up with the certainty of her victory.

She aims her fist at Molly's lower stomach, just below her bellybutton. As Tris's fist sinks into her flesh, she heaves out a heavy breath. Using her momentum, Tris sweeps Molly's legs out from under her body and she hits the ground with a loud thud. Tris pulls her leg back and kicks at Molly's ribs.

Molly curls into a ball to protect her side, but Tris keeps going. Again and again, she pulls her leg back and aims her foot at any part of Molly that is unprotected: her stomach, her chest, her face. Blood drips from Molly's nose and runs down her face in streams of flowing, red rivers.

Tris doesn't stop.

I rush over and clamp my hands around Tris's arms, just as her foot pulls back again, and force her away from Molly.

"You won," I murmur. "Stop."

For the first time today, we look each other in the eyes, and what I see alarms me. Somehow, overnight, the compassionate, Abnegation girl clad in grey clothing disappeared. For a terrifying second, her eyes reflected the power-hungry glint that is ever present in Eric's eyes.

"I think you should leave," I say, nudging her towards the door. "Take a walk."

"I'm fine," she says, ignoring my gentle shoves. "I'm fine now," she repeats, heaving a sigh.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you guys liked the random filler haha. I had to drag this out or else the chapter would have been too short.<strong>

**Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, etc.**

**I love you all for reading this!**


	11. Chapter 11

I wake up to the words "Fear God Alone" painted on one of the gleaming white walls of my room. The numbers on the clock sitting on my desk stare at me stupidly. 9:38 A.M.

I roll over, my head still foggy from sleep, and let out an exasperated sigh. No dreams last night, I muse. Although it's my first dreamless sleep in a while, I feel more drained than ever.

Today is Visiting Day – a day that holds no special meaning to me anymore. Not that it ever did. Visiting Day is meant for final goodbyes, for kisses on the cheek, and teary eyed parents. I said goodbye to my father, the only family I have left, long before Visiting Day. I said goodbye to him when rage and despair at the loss of my mother overtook him.

I sit up and massage the kink in my neck.

I wonder how things are back home. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still picture myself running down the street that I have lived on my entire life. I can feel the cracked cement beneath my shoes, and see the uniform gray houses rush by as I zoom down the street. "Tobias!" my mother would always call whenever I strayed too far from our home. Some nights, when I'm lying in bed, with nothing but the swirling of the wind to break the stillness, I swear it still carries her voice. I only ever hear it for a second, and then it's gone.

Reluctantly, I push myself out of bed and get ready for the day.

The dining hall is already packed by the time I make it down there. People mill around like ants, getting ready for their day.

I spot my friends sitting in our usual spot, chatting away and throwing muffin crumbs at each other. I make my over to them, chuckling quietly to myself like an idiot.

"Morning." I say, as I dodge a soggy blueberry aimed at my face.

"Oh look, his highness has decided to grace us with his presence this lovely morning." Zeke jokes, patting me on the shoulder as I squeeze in beside him. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Man, just pass the food. I'm starving." I say, reaching for a piece of toast.

"Listen to them," Lauren gestures around her. "I wish they would calm down a bit. Watching them makes me nervous, and I don't even have any reason to be nervous."

Lauren sighs dramatically and takes a large bite out of her crumbling muffin.

I see a few initiates wandering about the dining hall, eyes glancing from side to side, rubbing their hands together to defuse the tension building up inside.

Visiting Day does that to you. The outcome of this day is either good, or bad. No in-betweens. Either your parents love you enough to visit, or they feel so much betrayal at your decision to leave your faction that they can't bear to see you again. No transfer wants to find themselves in the latter situation.

After breakfast, Lauren and Zeke propose a knife throwing challenge, but I don't feel up for it. The nervous buzz in the air sets me off for some reason, which eliminates knife throwing as a good way to clear my head.

"You're chickening out, Four?" Zeke teases, flapping his arms and squawking like a chicken.

"Hey, remember," I point a finger at Zeke and cock an eyebrow. "I can still kick your ass on my worst days."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." He shrugs.

"Catch you later, Four." Lauren says as she turns to head up towards one of the training rooms.

I watch the pair of them walk out of the dining hall, playfully shoving each other and laughing as they disappear out the door.

I spend the rest of my morning by the chasm. I lean over the railing as far as I dare to, but never far enough to be in any real danger of falling. White, frothy water tumbles around and around, down the rocks and into the river down below. Water droplets land on my face and shirt, dotting the fabric with dark, damp circles.

Over the roar of the water, I hear voices.

"That's terrible." The voice says.

It's Tris.

She mumbles something that I don't quite catch, even though I'm straining my ears trying to listen to what she's saying.

Do I turn around?

She must be with her parents.

Do I introduce myself to them?

Maybe I should leave and give them some privacy.

"He's _handsome_." A more mature, female voice muses.

I take this as my cue to look over my shoulder. My eyes widen at the sight of a woman who looks like the splitting image of Tris, only older. She has the same blonde hair that hangs in waves over her shoulders, and a pair of pale, glassy eyes, just like Tris. What surprises me most is that I _know_ her. I don't know why I didn't make the connection earlier. Tris _Prior_. I know her family. Andrew Prior, Tris's father no doubt, is a close acquaintance and colleague of my father's. We've been invited to the Prior's for dinner numerous times, but I've always declined the invitation; though I'm certain her mother recognizes me. She has seen me out with my father. Every time they pass one another, they always exchange greetings.

She starts towards me and offers her hand. "Hello," she introduces herself. "My name is Natalie, I'm Beatrice's mother."

"Four," I say. "It's nice to meet you."

"Four," she repeats, the word hanging on her tongue. "Is that a nickname?"

"Yes." I reply curtly, not bothering to elaborate. "Your daughter is doing well here. I've been overseeing her training."

"That's good to hear," she says. "I know a few things about Dauntless initiation, and I was worried about her."

I look over at Tris. Dark circles line the underneath of her eyes. She's just as tired as I am, but she doesn't show it in training. Although she is still the smallest of the initiates, she is no longer the frail, timid girl that stood in her place at the beginning of initiation.

"You shouldn't worry." I assure her. Yesterday's fight has proven Tris to be more than capable of adapting to life as a Dauntless.

"You look familiar for some reason, Four."

Her simple statement catches me off guard. So she does remember me. I tense up, even though she didn't outwardly accuse me of anything. "I can't imagine why." I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended them to sound. "I don't make a habit of associating with the Abnegation."

To my surprise, Mrs. Prior laughs. "Few people do, these days. I don't take it personally."

I relax a little. "Well, I'll leave you to your reunion."

I walk back to the sanctuary of my room, where a daunting task lies before me.

Not only is today Visiting Day, but it is also the day rankings for stage one are determined and posted.

Last night, I removed the chalkboard from the initiate's sleeping area to write down the rankings. It has remained untouched since I last put it down – still leaning against the wall, still a blank canvas of nothingness.

I take a seat opposite the board, flipping a piece of chalk over and over in my fingers. When I absolutely cannot stall any longer, I puff out an air of defiance, call Eric into the room, and get to work.

X X X

Later in the evening, I lug the chalkboard up to the initiates' bedroom. A few people are already scattered around the room when I walk in. Their heads snap in my direction when I walk through the door, and follow me all the way to the back of the room, where I stand with the chalkboard leaning against my leg, and the piece of chalk from this afternoon still in my hand.

"After the first round of fights," I begin as the initiates gather around me in a tight group. "You are ranked – "

The door flies open and in comes Drew, Tris, Christina, Will and Al, all looking quite frazzled and out of breath.

"For those of you who just came in, I'm explaining how the ranks are determined," I tell them. "After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number of points you earn depends on your skill level and the skill level of the person you beat. You earn more points for improving and more points for beating someone of a high skill level. I don't reward preying on the weak. That is cowardice."

My eyes linger on Peter for a second as I say the last line.

"If you have a high rank, you lose points for losing to a low-ranked opponent."

Molly lets out a noise halfway between a snort and a grumble. I ignore her displeasure and continue my speech.

"Stage two of training if weighted more heavily than stage one, because it is more closely tied to overcoming cowardice." I explain. "That said, it is extremely difficult to rank high at the end of initiation if you rank low in stage one."

Tris's twitchy movements in the crowd immediately draw my attention to her, but she averts her eyes when she notices my stare. All I am hoping for right now is that her mother has kept my identity – my real one – a secret. One day, she will find out. One day, I will have the courage to open up to her. But, until then, I will to remain to her as Four, the boy without a past.

"We will announce the cuts tomorrow," I continue, shifting my eyes away from Tris. "The fact that you are transfers and the Dauntless-born initiates are not will not be taken into consideration. Four of you could be factionless and non of them. Or four of them could be factionless and none of you. Or any combination thereof. That said, here are your ranks."

I hang the board on the hook and step back so the initiates can get at good look at their rankings.

"What?" Molly pipes up, pointing a stubby finger at Christina. "I beat her! I beat her in _minutes_, and she's ranked _above_me?"

"Yeah," Christina gloats. "And?"

I cut in before Molly has a chance to retort. "If you intend to secure yourself a high rank, I suggest you don't make a habit of losing to low-ranked opponents."

I pocket the piece of chalk in my hand and navigate my way through the tightly-knit group of initiates. I can feel Tris's eyes following my every move. There is no doubt my comment stung her ego, but there is nothing I can do. I do believe that she is capable of much more than she lets on – I really do – but I only have so much control over the rankings. I don't second guess her abilities at all – not even for a second. I just hope she realizes I'm not the bad guy here. I don't know what I would do if I planted a seed of doubt in her tonight.

I really don't know what I would do.

So, I walk out of the room without risking so much as a glance in her direction, and carry on with my night.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again! Hopefully this one wasn't too bad. I'm writing my last exam on Monday so I'm good and free to write my heart out for the next four months! I can't believe I started this story at the beginning of my first year of university. But, well, here we are, eleven chapters later, and my first year is coming to an end. Time really flies, wow.<strong>

**I've decided that instead of filling the chapters with random, unrelated filler (like the previous chapter), I'm going to ask you guys what you would like to see Four do in his spare time (be it throwing knives at his friends, or getting tattooed), and I will do my best to incorporate it into the story. Oh, and, don't worry, the oranges from his dream will be incorporated into the story (I know it sounds kind of weird, but just trust me).**

**Soo, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Leave me some reviews, comments, or just anything you want me to throw into the story.**

**I'll update again real soon!**

**P.S. for those who think I'm just copying straight from the book, I'm not. I'm actually rephrasing everything Veronica has written so it's not as easy as you think it is to write this.**


	12. Chapter 12

Stage two of initiation gives me a lot more trouble than stage one did. A few ugly insults have been thrown my way throughout the day (mostly from Peter), but I did my best to plaster a docile expression on my face and ignore their harsh remarks. Apparently excellence doesn't extend through all stages of initiation. Peter certainly struggled much more than he had previously now that brute strength doesn't play to his advantage. By the time it's Tris's turn, my patience has grown thin.

"Come on, Tris." I motion to her in the hallway.

I usher her into the room and let the door shut behind me.

No more than two steps into the room, Tris recoils and her shoulders shrink back and bump into my chest. She looks at the reclining metal chair with apprehension.

I nudge her towards the chair, hoping she wouldn't put up much of a resistance. Sit," I tell her.

"What's the stimulation?" she says with a considerable effort in keeping her voice steady, but it comes out shaky anyways.

"Ever heard the phrase 'face your fears'?" I say. "We're taking that literally. The simulation will teach you to control your emotions in the midst of a frightening situation."

I watch her lower herself onto the chair, her movements slow and calculated, like she's preparing for a fight against the immobile metal object. Well, it won't be a physical one, but a mental one.

It sure is a lot easier to oversee the stimulations rather than to experience them. Thinking back two years to my own initiation, I certainly can't say my first attempt was smooth sailing. Even though I knew it was only a simulation, I just couldn't fight off the feeling that felt much too real. It took a good fifteen minutes for my heartbeat to lower to a normal rate. When I woke from the simulation, my entire body was drenched in cold sweat. Real or fake, the sight of my father draws the same reaction from me.

Tris speaks up and brings my attention back to the present. "Do you ever administer the aptitude tests?"

"No," I say. "I avoid Stiffs as much as possible." But for different reasons than you'd think, Tris.

"Why?"

Her inquisitiveness is going to land her in trouble one of these days.

"Do you ask me that because you think I'll actually answer?" I raise an eyebrow at her and carry on with the necessary preparations for her stimulation. I reach toward the plate carrying needles full of simulation serum, of which only three are full, wrap my fingers around one and lift it off of the plate.

Her eyes follow me as I step around the whirring equipment in the room to hover beside her. "Why do you say vague things if you don't want to be asked about them?"

I leave her questions hanging as I brush her hair to the side. _Tris, you're ready for answers that I'm not prepared to share – at least not for the time being._ _Give me some time, that's all I need. _I tap the side of the needle, and her eyes flicker down to my hands, following my smallest of movements.

"An injection?" Tris eyes the needle in my hand. The breath sucks out of her like a vacuum.

"We use a more advanced version of the simulation here," I explain, "a different serum, no wires or electrodes for you."

"How does it work without wires?"

"Well, _I _have wires, so I can see what's going on. But for you, there's a tiny transmitter in the serum that sends data to the computer."

I ease the tip of the needle into the tender skin on the side of her neck. Whether or not she's ready, I don't know, but her apprehension will only grow the longer this drags on.

"The serum will on into effect in sixty seconds. This simulation is different from the aptitude test," I explain. "In addition to containing the transmitter, the serum stimulates the amygdale, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions – like fear – and then induces a hallucination. The brain's electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators. You stay in the hallucination until you calm down – that is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing."

The growing fear in her eyes makes me want to encase her in my arms and drive the panic away. I swear I can hear her heartbeats echo in the room – the rapid thump-a-thumps bouncing off of the walls and increasing the tension in her body. I ease my hands over her temples and lean my head down to hers, so close that my lips are just a breath away from her skin.

"Be brave, Tris." I whisper softly, trying to calm her nerves. "The first time is always the hardest."

I hold her gaze until she loses consciousness. The stimulation has begun.

_Don't worry Tris, I'm following close behind._

Once I sit down in front of the computer monitor, I plug myself in and a field of grass materializes before my eyes instantly. Tris stands in the middle of the field as still as a stone. A shadow swoops overhead and drops onto her shoulder. A crow. _Really? Crows? _Tris swats at the bird, but it stays put on her shoulder as if the hand that is smacking it is nonexistent. Frustrated, Tris lashes out at the bird, but to no avail. The thing just stands there perched on her shoulder and ignorant to everything around it. The next second, the air reverberates with the sounds of thunder. In the distance, the sky darkens as a dark form passes over the sun. My first thought is _thunderstorm clouds_. However, as it nears, it becomes evident to me that it is not a storm cloud; it is a flock of crows. The mass of birds descend collectively and swarm Tris. Their beaks peck at any and every part of her exposed flesh. I watch her fight, but I cannot fight with her. I only hope she will remember my advice.

"Help!" she wails.

My heart wrenches at the sound of her voice. My first instinct is to run over to her and fight the birds off one by one with my bare hands, but I calm my mind and remind myself that this is only a simulation.

"Help!" she sobs over and over.

_Come on, Tris, you can do it. Remember what I told you. Steady your breathing and it will all be over. _

I remember back to my initiation, when I was in the exact same position as she is. I remember how real it all felt – how every touch and every prickle on my skin felt like it was tearing me apart piece by piece. If someone had pressed their mouth to my ears and whispered "it's not real", it would have helped me to snap out of the nightmare and regain control of my surroundings. Sometimes, all it takes is a single whisper to turn everything around.

So, that's what I do. I mentally will with my mind for her to hear my voice. _It's not real, Tris. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real._

Gradually, her breathing slows and she regains control of her heartbeats. It's as if she really did hear my voice! Already, I can feel reality tugging at the edges. I ease the electrodes off of my head and open my eyes to the dreary walls of the testing room.

Sounds of movement from the metal reclining chair tell me Tris is fully out of the simulation. She brings her knees to her chest and buries her face them. A soft groan escapes her lips. Immediately, I walk over and gently lay my hand on her shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort her.

I must have startled her because she shrinks from my touch and thrusts an arm out, her fist making contact with my stomach. "Don't touch me!" she wails.

"It's over," I murmur, shifting my hand around awkwardly to stroke her hair, hoping my touch won't set her off again.

I watch her silently. She runs her hands along her arms again and again, swatting at invisible things that are merely an extension of her imagination. I long to reach out and comfort her, but past experiences tell me it's better to just let her be.

"Tris…"

I watch her, my eyes full of concern. She rocks back and forth in the metal chair, not blinking or speaking.

"Tris, I'm going to take you back to the dorms, okay?"

"No!" she objects, glaring at me through tear-filled eyes. "They can't see me…not like this…"

"Oh, calm down," I roll my eyes. "I'll take you out the back door." I gesture towards a second door that leads to a different hallway.

"I don't need you to…" she insists, despite the fact that she is shaking and crying.

I huff out a disgruntled sigh. "Nonsense."

Without another word, I take hold of her arm and guide her out of the room, down the hallway. To my surprise, she doesn't resist my grip. When we have put a fair amount of distance between us and the testing room, she yanks her arm out of my hand and turns on me.

"Why did you do that to me?" she starts. "What was the point of that, huh? I wasn't aware that when I chose Dauntless, I was signing up for weeks of torture!"

For her sake, I plaster on a placid expression and resist the urge to argue back. "Did you think overcoming cowardice would be easy?" I say calmly.

"That isn't overcoming cowardice! Cowardice is how you decide to be in real life, and in real life, I am not getting pecked to death by crows, Four!" Her sobbing comes before I have a chance to say anything. Not knowing what to do, I settle for standing beside her awkwardly while mentally kicking myself for my lack of knowledge on how to respond to random emotional outbursts. _How does Shauna do it? _I wonder, thinking back to the numerous times that she has consoled those in distress by gently wrapping her arms around their shoulders and murmuring soothing words.

_Think like Shauna. Channel Shauna. _

Before I have a chance to channel anything Shauna-like, Tris regains control of her emotions.

"I want to go home," she mumbles.

If only she knew those were the exact words I was thinking a few weeks ago. But of course, I have no home to go back to. I wanted out of this place as well, but then she came along. I want to grab her by the shoulders and tell her that it gets better, that all it takes for everything to change is one person – the right person. She is that person. I want to tell her all of that, but my fear of what Eric might do if he learns of my feelings towards her overwhelms my desire to confess. "Learning how to think in the midst of fear," I say instead, "is a lesson that everyone, even your Stiff family, needs to learn. That's what we're trying to teach you. If you can't learn it, you'll need to get the hell out of here, because we won't want you."

"I'm _trying_." Tris whimpers. "But I failed. I'm failing." _Oh, Tris. You have to start doubting yourself._

I sigh. "How long do you think you spent in that hallucination, Tris?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. A half hour?"

"Three minutes," I tell her. "You got out three times faster than the other initiates. Whatever you are, you're not a failure." _In fact, you are the exact opposite. _I smile in encouragement. "Tomorrow you'll be better at this. You'll see."

"Tomorrow?"

I dip my head in a subtle nod and guide her towards the dormitory. Sometimes, I forget she is just a sixteen year old girl. In my eyes, she is so much more than what she believes herself to be. I want to push her, to test her limits and drive her ambition because I know she has more will and guts than she lets on; but there is always a gnawing dread at the back of head that one day, she will snap from the pressure. I always worry about that day, even though I know it will never come. I'm just so afraid of losing the one person that I have a possibility of growing close to after distancing myself from everyone for so long.

For a while, we walk in silence.

"What was your first hallucination?" she asks while sneaking glances at my expression.

"It wasn't a 'what' so much as a 'who'." I shrug, not bothering to expand on my vague answer. Anyways, now is not the time. "It's not important."

"And are you over that fear now?"

"Not yet." I say, thinking back to my simulation. I unconsciously massage my wrists, where I swear I can still feel the painful sting of Marcus's belt. "I may never be."

"So they don't go away?"

"Sometimes they do. And sometimes new fears replace them. But becoming fearless isn't the point. That is impossible. It's learning to control your fear, and how to be free from it, _that's_ the point."

She nods slowly.

"Anyways," I add. "Your fears are rarely what they appear to be in the simulation."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, are you really afraid of crows?" I smile at her and cock my head to the side. "When you see one, do you run away screaming?" I try to picture it: Tris, the girl who jumps trains and beats girls twice the size of her to a pulp, startled by a harmless black bird. Not likely.

"No. I guess not." she admits. For a second, I think about closing the distance between us. Just one small step and we'd be standing skin to skin. What good will that do though? It's not like I can outwardly display any signs of affection towards her, at least not while initiation is still going on. If Eric or any other initiate sees, I will be accused of favouritism, and I can't risk that for Tris's sake.

She takes a step closer and leans against the wall, her eyes on my face once again. "So what am I really afraid of?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Only you can know."

"I didn't know becoming Dauntless would be this difficult," she admits. Her eyes search my face for any sign of disapproval at her confession, but I don't show any. I don't think she realizes I was once in the exact same position. An Abnegation transfer – a Stiff – in a Dauntless compound.

"It wasn't always like this, I'm told," I tell her. "Being Dauntless, I mean."

"What changed?"

"The leadership," I say. "The person who controls training sets the standard of Dauntless behaviour. Six years ago Max and the other leaders changed the training methods to make them more competitive and more brutal, said it was supposed to test people's strength. And that changed the priorities of Dauntless as a whole. Bet you can't guess who the leaders' new protégé is."

She mulls over my words for a few moments. "So if you were ranked first in your initiate class, what was Eric's rank?"

"Second."

"So he was their second choice for leadership, and you were their first." She nods slowly, chewing over the pieces of the puzzle that she is trying to fit together.

"What makes you say that?"

"The way Eric was acting at dinner the first night. Jealous, even though he has what he wants."

Dead on, Tris. It scares me to see the same sneering personality reflected in another in the initiate group: Peter. _Jealousy induces dangerous behavior_, I muse, thinking about what happened to that boy, Edward. I hope Peter doesn't breed into a mini Eric. There are enough lunatics running around in the compound.

Tris lets out one last sniffle, wipes her face, and smoothes down her hair. "Do I look like I've been crying?"

"Hmm," I lean in close and narrow my eyes, pretending to carefully inspect her face. A smile plays at the corners of my lips. "No, Tris. You look tough as nails." And I mean it.

* * *

><p>I raise my bottle of beer and clink it against the other three bottles that are hovering in midair. It's not like there's anything to toast, but I do it anyways out of habit.<p>

"To Shauna's dimple chin!" Zeke jokes light-heartedly.

"To Zeke's chipmunk cheeks!" Shauna retorts, playfully shoving her fist into his arm.

"To Zeke's beer belly!" Lauren chimes in.

I take a swig and add, "To Lauren's bloated fingers!" which earns me a light smack across the head.

"They're not bloated!" she whines. "They're normal sized."

On and on we go, blurting out toast after toast, each one sounding more ridiculous than the last. Already, I can feel reality blurring at the edges.

"Hey, look." Zeke gestures away from the chasm with his bottle. "It's the Stiff."

I follow his gaze to where Tris stands with her friends. My eyes widen at the sight of her. It's weird to see her like this: so real and carefree, just a regular sixteen year old kid when you break down the tough exterior. I notice the new shirt she's wearing that exposes her shoulders and collarbones.

"Tris," I call out before I can stop myself.

I break away from the rail and walk over to where she is standing. Up close, I see the makeup lining her eyes. The crisp black line contrasts the soft gray colour of her eyes. Beautiful. No, not beautiful. She's much more than that. _Striking._ The alcohol pounds in my head, masking my eyes with a thin layer of film that makes everything look hazy and surreal. She looks surreal. My heartbeat picks up instinctively as I become aware of how close our bodies are. It's as if someone is holding a microphone against my chest. The entire world seems to reverberate, each beat matching the rhythmic thumping of my heart. "You look different." I manage to slur out.

"So do you," she says, though I don't exactly know why she said that. "What are you doing?"

"Flirting with death," I laugh at the thought. _Man, we really are a bunch of reckless kids._ _True Dauntless behaviour, I suppose._ "Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea."

"No, it isn't." she says apprehensively.

I try to study her expression, but my eyes can't concentrate on anything for longer than a second. A black speck of ink draws my eyes to her collarbone. "Didn't know you had a tattoo."

_Keep the conversation going_, I tell myself. Unsure of what to say next, I take a sip from my bottle to buy me some time, but with my mind this sluggish, I don't come up with anything. All I manage to squeeze out is "Right. The _crows_."

I look over my shoulder at Lauren, Shauna, and Zeke and do a head count. One, two, three. All there. Good. They seem to be carrying on just fine without me. "I'd ask you to hang out with us, but you're not supposed to see me this way."

"That way?" she asks. "Drunk?"

"Yeah…well, no." My mind is so sluggish that words don't process the way they use to. They tumble out of my mouth on their own. "Real, I guess." Although what I said doesn't quite make sense to me, Tris takes in the answer and doesn't keep prodding.

"I'll pretend I didn't." she assures me.

"Nice of you." I lean close and put my lips next to her ear. They brush her skin for a second, making my nerves tingle with excitement. I work to keep my breathing even. "You look good Tris."

She giggles nervously. "Do me a favour and stay away from the chasm, okay?"

"Of course." I wink at her and stumble back toward the railing to rejoin my friends.

I watch Al run off with her on his shoulder. Her shrieking laughter fills my ears and I give a little smile in her direction. My mind wills her to come back as they round a corner, but she doesn't. Even now, I can't fully recall our conversation. I can only hope that I didn't cross any boundaries. But, for now, all is lost to me. I turn back to my friends and raise my bottle once again.

"To flirting with death."

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I just finished reading Insurgent and realized that some of the stuff I wrote in the earlier chapters are inconsistent with the story so I'm going to re-write those parts after a month or so so I don't spoil anything for people who haven't read Insurgent.<strong>

**Like always, give me your feedback!**

**Until next time, have a nice one (:**


	13. Chapter 13

"It's just a simulation, Tris" I assure her, though she knows it's much tougher than I make it out to be.

Slowly, as the injection takes a hold of her brain, her eyes close, and I lose her to the darkness once again.

Tris wakes up in darkness, and so do I. Blue orbs blink on one by one, filling the room with light and casting eerie, flickering shadows on the floor. I recognize this place – we're in the Pit. The initiates stand in a circle around a glass box, which has Tris encased in its interior. A simulation version of me marches up to the box and taps on the glass, motioning towards the bottom of her feet. I follow my own gaze down to the bottom of her feet, curious, but cautious as to what the glass box will do.

The answer comes immediately. Water gushes from the bottom of the box, soaking Tris's feet and ankles.

"Hey!" she cries. "Let me out of here!"

_Drowning_. I realize. She's afraid of drowning.

The water rises as she frantically pounds on the glass. "Get me out of here!"

Water at her knees.

Water at her waist.

Water at her chest.

Although this is merely a simulation, the thought of watching Tris helplessly drown sends shivers up and down my spine.

_It's not real_. I remind myself.

Water rises above her head, imprisoning her in the suffocating glass chamber. Her expression is composed, not panicked as it was moments ago, but her heartbeat doesn't slow down; she is still fighting.

Again and again, she swings her foot at the glass in front of her. _Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! _

_Come on, Tris. What are you doing? Stop fighting the simulation._

Frustrated, she tries the barrier with her hands. Her efforts seem to yield no results, until I hear the unmistakable cracking of glass. The sound sends a shuddering chill down my spine. Dread spreads through my bloodstream, threatening to suffocate me in its stifling grip.

She shouldn't have been able to crack the glass.

She shouldn't have been able to control the simulation.

She is Divergent.

With one final kick, the glass gives and shatters into a thousand pieces, letting the water spill onto the floor before it and ending the simulation.

Everything is a blurry mess when I open my eyes. I rest my head in my hands and let out a frustrated groan.

Tris's Divergence complicates everything.

I walk over to the chair as she wakes up from the simulation.

"What?" she asks, when my stare becomes uncomfortable for her.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Crack the glass."

"I don't know."

I offer her my hand and help her off the chair. When she remains unmoving, I sigh, and drag her out of the room.

"What?" she demands as she jerks her arm back once we're in the hallway.

"You're Divergent."

Fear flashes in her eyes, but only for a second. She composes her face and leans casually against the wall. "What's Divergent?"

"Don't play stupid," I say. "I suspected it last time, but this time it's obvious. You manipulated the simulation; you're Divergent. I'll delete the footage, but unless you want to wind up dead at the bottom of the chasm, you'll figure out how to hide it during the simulations! Now, if you'll excuse me."

I push past Tris and stalk back into the simulation room, leaving her on her own to figure out a way to save her own skin.

* * *

><p>That evening, I climb out of the Dauntless compound after my shift in the control room and head down to the train tracks. I sit down on the curb, draping my arms over my knees, and just breathe. Moonlight passes through the breaks between dark clouds that drift lazily across the sky, softening the bruises of the harsh daylight, and muting them in veiled shadow. The softness of the city is moonlight lost in the harshness of the bright day. The sharp angles, mounts of crumbled history and ruins are enveloped by the blanketing arms of the night. There is a sort of stillness in the air that screams to be heard and to be felt. It craves a captive audience, so here I am, basking in all of its glory.<p>

Through the quiet, I hear soft footsteps approaching.

Shauna creeps up beside me and offers a quiet greeting. The moonlight bounces off her soft honey-brown hair; it dances on her cheekbones and her nose; it holds itself in her eyes.

"What are you doing out here so late?" Shauna asks, taking a seat beside me on the dusty curb.

She pulls her knees up to her chin and wraps her arms around them. In this, I see a glimpse of the Shauna that I knew two years ago: the Shauna that I taught to fight every night after everyone else has gone to bed, slight but determined.

"I could ask you the same thing." I say.

"Can't sleep. I like coming up here every so often. It's a nice change; everything's so open and bright, even at night."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Do you ever miss it?" She turns to look at me. "Home, I mean."

"I am home." Even though I am far from home. "There's nothing left for me there." I say, gesturing towards the Abnegation sector, though I'm not sure I completely believe my words.

We both fall silent for a few minutes.

"So," she starts. "The Stiff, huh?"

I grin and fiddle with a piece of grass that has sprouted from a crack in the cement. "Please, I beg you, spare me from the girl talk!"

"Oh, shut up." She shoves me with her shoulder. "Come on, spill. Have you kissed her yet? Have you showered her with bouquets and bouquets of roses while proclaiming your love for her down on one knee?"

"The answer to the latter is a resounding yes." I tease. "I'll get back to you on the first one."

"Spill or I'll sell your soul to Eric." She demands.

In the distance, the chugging sound of an approaching train carries with the wind to my ears. "That, you nosy thing, is the sound of salvation."

"I'll get it out of you one way or another," she says. "Where's that train headed?"

"I don't know. The end of the world." I say, my eyes searching the horizon where the train tracks disappear to oblivion. "Want to come?"

"I'll sit this one out." She says. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Do I ever?"

"Always," she snorts.

And then we go our separate ways: her, back to the Dauntless compound, and me, running alongside the train, following it to oblivion.

I lean out of the car as far as I dare, letting the wind sweep past my face, savoring the feeling of the light tapping of my heart against my chest. Only when I am on the trains, when I see the world melting into the wind, do I feel this slight rush of adrenaline that clears my head and quickens my pulse. Only here, and when I am with Tris.

I trace the shape of her face in my mind. The curve of her nose, the arch of her brows, the curl of her eyelashes. I see her everywhere; the wind sings her name and the moon mirrors her pale gleaming eyes.

Her laugh courses through my veins; she lives inside me. It scares me to lose control – to rely on someone other than myself, but I am willing, just this time, to let myself crumble down to nothing and rebuild again with both mine and her name on my lips. I let the idea of her consume me until I am no longer Four, and no longer Tobias, but a person born again – born to a world of lies and deceit and broken morals, to a world where I have everything to lose – but it's all worth it. Here we are, thrown into the midst of it all, as fragile and soft as the flutter of a bird's wing against strong wind, but I refuse to break, and I hope for my sake that she stands strong as well.

I can feel the world giving away, like an old photograph printed on yellow, withering paper, as fragile as a whisper lost in the stealing arms of the wind. The blinking lights of the city brush by my fingertips, so lightly it might have not happened at all, and already, I am lost to the infinite possibilities of the flitting night air. Above me, a thousand twinkling lights mark their place in the sky, and my blood is singing _I am so, so alive._

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed this one!<strong>

**Review, comment, you know.**

**Thank you all for reading this!**


	14. Chapter 14

I dream of Tris.

She is clad in an orange sundress as vibrant as Dauntless flames.

I chase her down endless hallways, never far enough to lose sight of her, but never near enough to touch her. For what seems like hours, we play this everlasting game of cat and mouse. Sunlight blazes through windows, setting the world ablaze when it catches sight of the vivid colour of her dress. Her laugh trails behind her, ricocheting off the walls and drifting into my ears.

Simple and beautiful.

When I wake up, my world is in flames with the lingering image of Tris twirling in her vibrant orange dress. It looked like she was on fire.

X X X

Marlene flashes a bright smile as she pushes through the door and settles in the metal chair.

"Ready for another one?" I ask.

"Do I have a choice?" she shrugs.

"No, not really," I say. "At least this will be the last one you'll ever have to stick through."

"And then fear landscapes?" she exhales.

"And then fear landscapes," I say, repeating her words.

"Four," she says, as I sweep her hair from her neck for the injection. "What were your fears?"

I ease the needle into her neck, not bothering to hesitate to answer her question. It's not for her to know. "It's a secret," I say softly as her eyes close to let the simulation take over.

I wake up in my worst nightmare.

Marlene's hair whips around in a wild crown around her head. Stretching before her, reaching miles and miles into the distance, is the city of Chicago. We stand on what I can only believe is the tallest building in the city, and it's crumbling before my eyes.

The concrete below Marlene's right foot crumples in a cloud of choking dust. She shrieks, her eyes wild with terror.

There are only two options for her: jump, or fall.

I shudder at the thought, knowing I have faced the decision many times in my own fear landscape. We both share the fear of heights.

Patch by patch, the building disintegrates to nothing more than dust blown into oblivion by the carrying arms of the wind. Marlene is now forced to frantically play hopscotch in order to avoid falling through one of the gaping holes.

_Just breathe_, I urge, sorely wanting the simulation to be over.

All that is left now is the frail skeleton of the building. Marlene balances carefully on the thin rails, taking in shuddering breathes to calm herself. At last, she opens her eyes, taking in the haunting view before her, and lets go.

A thin layer of sweat covers my body when I pull out of the simulation. I don't think I'm going to get over my fear of heights any time soon.

"Done," Marlene breathes.

"Heights, huh?" I watch her get out of the chair. "Me too."

"Oh," she nods slowly. "So that's one of out four. I'll fish the other three out of you – eventually."

"Sure you will," I say, ushering her out the door.

The rest of the simulations flash by without an incident. Tris wraps up the end of stage two with the same simulation she faced yesterday: someone holding her at gunpoint and ordering her to shoot her family.

"I know the simulation isn't real," she says.

"You don't have to explain it to me," I tell her. "You love your family. You don't want to shoot them. Not the most unreasonable thing in the world."

"In the simulation is the only time I get to see them," she admits. "I miss them. You ever just…miss your family?"

My eyes drop to the floor.

Do I miss my family? Do I miss my father, who used me as an object to relieve his rage? Do I miss my mother, who left me to fend for myself? "No," I say. "I don't. But that's unusual."

Tris gets up to leave, but she hesitates as she reaches the door, her hand hovering above the doorknob. She turns back, looking me square in the eyes, and I hold her gaze. Her eyes pierce through me as if the mere sight of them can upturn my insides and pull every buried secret from the depth of my mind and spill them out in the open for her to see. Before, I would have found this unsettling, but now, I have learned to accept it – to accept this girl who makes me _want_ to pour out my insides, this girl who makes me _want_ to confide in her, because I know she will take me as I am, through all the good and bad.

Just then, another thought enters my head: the rankings for the second stage.

_You're ranked first this time!_ I want to blurt out. I almost do. I want to keep talking because I know it will keep her in the room, in the same space that I'm in, but I don't say anything. I don't even know why. I have never been tongue-tied in any situation with anybody – except for Tris.

The seconds tick on. When we both realize we have been staring at each other for too long, she composes herself and walks out of the room.

The rankings cross my mind again, and no matter what I do, I can't suppress the horrible nagging feeling that something is off. Tris ranking first is a good thing, right? _Right?_ I think back the butterknife incident with Edward, and suddenly, the room feels a lot colder than it did a moment ago. Peter's monstrosity wouldn't have stopped at Edward. It's snowballing, if anything, and the next person to get in his way will have it much, much worse.

But not this time.

He'll have to go through me if he wants to think about laying so much as a finger on his next victim.

I rub the tiredness from my eyes. Initiation coupled with late night shifts in the control room has really taken a toll on me. Throw in raging concern bobbing up wherever Tris is involved and I am a true walking zombie in the Dauntless compound.

Luckily, Zeke and Shauna find me before I resort to curling up in the dank corner of a passage way for a much needed nap.

"Did you know Jeanine Matthews is trooping around the compound like she owns the place?" Shauna says.

"What?" I say. It's not exactly normal for factions to intermingle in each others' sectors, but authoritative figures do occasionally visit other factions. But still, it is rarely necessary unless you are one of the Amity truck drivers who routinely deliver fresh produce to the other four factions.

"Well, she wasn't _really_ trooping around," says Shauna. "I saw her huddling with Max and Eric before they went inside Max's office.

"We were going to sling berries at her," Zeke says.

"Shut up," Shauna elbows Zeke.

"What? It was your idea," he shrugs.

"I wasn't being serious," Shauna says. "I don't want her to whip out her super advanced fighting machine and taser our butts into one of her geeky computer nerds."

"You'd have to be smart to be a geeky computer nerd," I tease. "So you're off the hook."

"I'll cook you," she glares at me.

"I bet you Jeanine's trying to steal our cake recipe," Zeke chimes in.

"We do have good cake," I say.

I think about Jeanine's presence here in the Dauntless headquarters, about her meeting with Max and Eric, about the files I discovered weeks ago – which looked like war plans – sent by Erudite. Her being here no doubt has something to do with those files. Something is happening – something big and unsettling. If I had taken up Max's offer of a position of power, would I be in his office right now with them?

I don't know.

But I do know I have to find out more.

Shauna, Zeke, and I wind through the passage ways doing nothing but talking and cracking jokes, our laughs bouncing off of the bare walls, each echo fainter than the last as if the walls are absorbing our laugher and saving happy memories in the cold stones. It feels good to be doing nothing.

As we pass a training room, I hear muffled voices coming from inside. I motion for Zeke and Shauna to stop, and push the doors open to reveal Tris, Lynn, Marlene, who is working on a muffin, and Uriah, who is firing plastic pellets at the targets.

"I thought I heard something in here," I say.

"Turns out it's my idiot brother," says Zeke. "You're not supposed to be in here after hours. Careful, or Four will tell Eric, and then you'll be as good as scalped."

Uriah makes a face at Zeke and puts away the pellet gun in his hand. I step away from the door to let the four of them clear the room.

"You wouldn't tell Eric," Lynn says, narrowing her eyes at me.

"No, I wouldn't," I assure her.

They file out one by one with Tris rounding up the rear. I press my hand against the top of her back to usher her out.

As Tris starts to follow the others down the hallway, words tumble out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. "Wait a second," I say.

She turns back to me, clearly confused as to why I'm holding her up. Frankly, I don't really know why I am holding her up either. I fidget with a button on my shirt, trying to buy time to relay a speech that I haven't even thought to prepare. I have so much to say, but my mind seems incapable of transforming my thoughts into words.

"You belong here, you know that?" I blurt out. "You belong with us. It'll be over soon, so just hold on, okay?"

_God, I'm useless._ _Of all of the things I could have said…_

She holds me with her eyes. Instinctively, my heartbeat picks up. I can feel it in my stomach, my cheeks, my fingertips. If I close the space between us, I wonder if she will be able to feel it too. She makes me flustered in a way that no other girl has been able to make me feel before. She's different. She's special. She's selflessly brave. She's _Tris_.

She's full of surprises.

And she surprises me when she reaches for my hand. As our fingers interlace together, my mind bursts in a spectacular array of colourful stars. My heart dances in my chest and tingling chills run up and down my arms. I can't breathe.

We stand like that for what feels like an infinite amount of time. Then, she pulls away and disappears down the hallway, running after the others.

I wear a smile for the rest of the day.

Once I am in the control room, memory of Jeanine Matthew's visit flood me. I know what I have to do.

I duck my head into the hallway, making sure it's empty so no one will catch me doing what I am about to do. It's risky to meddle with confidential files. I don't know what the consequences will be if I am caught, but it is a risk I'm willing to take if it means I can put a stop to what is being planned.

I settle into the lumpy office chair and let my fingers hack away at the keyboard. For several frustrating minutes, I search for the loophole in the security system that once allowed me to access the Dauntless secure files. Finally, the screen flashes white, each of the files blinking onto the screen one by one. The contents haven't changed since I last saw them – still the same supply lists, maps, and pages of vague instructions.

But why is Erudite teaming up with Dauntless? And who are they raging war against?

I chew the thoughts over and over in my head, trying to piece together anything that will help me solve the puzzle.

Time flies by as I run ideas through my head. Within the last few weeks, several reports have been published – all by the Erudite – attacking various Abnegation members, one of whom was my father, one of whom was Tris's father. Surely, those articles are meant to stir up dissension against Abnegation.

Abnegation…because they control the government.

But why involve the Dauntless?

I chew my lip raw trying to piece together the puzzle. Then, the thought comes to me.

_Because a war is fought by soldiers_.

The thought sickens me. The Erudite wants to _use_ us. Whatever they think we are, I can assure them we are not playthings ready to be controlled at their will.

The walls seem to press in on me as my shift drags on. The rumblings of a war to come gnaw at my mind with a growing intensity. Nothing like this has ever been happened before. The factions may have not existed in perfect harmony, but no drastic measures have ever been necessary to eliminate petty disagreements that have sprouted up over time. When my shift ends, I walk the hallways quietly, head heavy with dread and uneasiness.

In my inattentiveness, I almost collide when I round a corner with Al, who looks as flustered as I feel.

_What's his problem?_

And then, a frightening scream pierces the air. It's not until I near the chasm that I see it – the scene that Al was running from, a scene that makes me stop dead in my tracks, a sight that makes bile rise in my throat because I didn't think anyone would have the guts to take matters this far.

Peter holds Tris over the chasm in a chocking grip around her neck while Drew stands off to the side, not quite having a hand in the crime but also not bothering to put a stop to it. This is a new low, even for Peter, who I know for a fact only cares for himself and his dignity, but I didn't think he had it in him to find pleasure in overpowering a girl half his size and putting her life on the line.

I have never felt this much rage at anyone other than my father.

"Hey!" I scream.

Both of them snap their heads towards the sound of my voice, fear contorting their faces into expressions of horror that I have never seen before. They have the guts to commit the crime, but they're not brave enough to face the consequences.

Peter slips away immediately, but I manage to grab Drew by his shirt and shove him against the railing.

"This stops _right now_." I hiss in his face.

Rage overtakes me; it fills my vision with red and I don't hold back my fisted hands. Again and again, they make contact with Drew's body: his face, his chest, his ribs, any unprotected part of him that I can reach. I want him to feel the same pain that he put Tris through. I want to make him sorry that he ever thought he could mess with her without repercussions. I want to wreck him.

"We were – " he huffs. "We were only trying to scare her!"

"To hell you were," I spit back and toss him to the ground where he slumps in a heap of bruised arms and legs.

Tris leans heavily against the railing, barely conscious. "Four," she croaks.

I gather her into my arms and carry her back to my room. My heart lurches with every step that I take. How is it that even with me so close, I am still unable to protect Tris from those who want to harm her?

"Shh," I murmur. "You're safe now."

Even as I say the words, I think _is she?_

_Will she ever be?_

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you all liked this chapter!<strong>

**Like always, leave me some reviews, comments and constructive criticism because I love to read them.**

**Thank you all for sticking with me!**


	15. Chapter 15

Tris, lying bruised and unconscious on my bed, looks a lot more delicate with the same frailness as an injured bird trying to take flight. I run my hands nervously up and down her body, checking for injuries and broken bones. To my relief, no serious damage was done, but a bump on the back of her head sends me into a fit of worry. I wrap my blanket around her; the entire bed seems to swallow her whole. I stand by the bedside and watch her for a few minutes, terrified that if I leave, she will disappear – just vanish into thin air. What will I do then?

I turn on the bathroom tap and splash water onto my face hoping it will cool my anger and help even my breathing. Before I leave, I catch sight of my expression in the bathroom mirror. For the first time in my life, I almost don't recognize myself even though I've been seeing the same face staring back at me for eighteen years. With my hair a messy crown on my head and my eyes burning with red hot rage, I have taken on a frightening resemblance to my father. A sick feeling grows in my stomach, a leaden sensation that gets heavier the longer I look at the stranger that has crawled under my skin. I storm out of my room as I forcefully swallow the urge to plant my fist in the mirror.

I find Drew in the exact same spot that I left him: by the railing that overlooks the chasm.

"Up," I say, hauling him to his feet by his shirt.

"Wha – " he groans, cowering slightly under my grip. "What are you doing?"

"A favour that you don't deserve," I say through my teeth.

Drew's laboured breathing is the only sound I hear as we wind through the pathways to the infirmary. I stop just outside the door and throw him against the wall.

"If I hear _anything_ about you laying a finger on another initiate, I swear to God, the repercussions will be much, much worse than you can ever imagine," I hiss. "Trust me when I say cowardice does not sit well us Dauntless. What you did tonight can very well earn you a ticket straight to the factionless sector, so if I were you, I'd be very, very careful."

He nods weakly.

I shove him through the door and hand him to the nurse on duty. He mumbles something about picking a fight with the wrong initiate before collapsing onto a bed.

Even outside in the hallway, the smell of the medicinal scent of the infirmary is still strong and nauseating. So I run. I run far from the stinging smell that filled my nose every time I was hospitalized after an extreme outburst from my father. _He tripped down the stairs_, he'd say to the nurse, who never questioned his explanation because he is Marcus Eaton. You simply do not question the leader of Abnegation because he is supposed to be the truthful and honourable man that everyone believes him to be.

People can be quite ignorant, I find, when they utterly refuse to accept the truth, even when it's kicking them in the face, simply because they don't want to ruin the image that they already have imprinted in their minds.

Out of pure rage, I slam my fist into the jagged stone wall. Instantly, I feel blood trickling from my knuckles.

_Get it together._ I will not let my emotions control me; I will not be my father.

I walk back to my room. The dripping sound of blood on the stone floor breaks the silence; a trail of red leads all the way to my room like a morbid version of Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs.

I turn on the bathroom tap and let the water wash away the blood that is still flowing from my knuckles. My blood tints the water a vivid pink, the exact colour of a sunset sky. It's funny how such a soft and delicate thing as a sunset has the same colour as something as striking and violent as blood spilled over vicious crimes.

The coolness of the water soothes the broken skin on my hand. I take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. My eyes no longer possess that maddening glint, once so sharp that I swear one look could cut through glass. There is a shallow cut on the side of my lip where Drew's fingernail dug into my skin in a feeble attempt to defend himself, which seems to be the only mark of the fight on my body.

I turn off the tap, dry my hands, and flip off the bathroom lights as I walk over to the fridge to get an ice pack for Tris. Without the sound of running water, the electric hum of the fridge is the only sound that fills the room. Tris, who is now awake, watches me silently as I approach her.

"Your hands," she croaks, her voice dry and cracking.

"My hands are none of your concern," I tell her. I lean over her, gently easing the ice pack under her head. Before I pull away, she extends her hand towards me, her fingers hovering hesitantly between us for a fraction of a second before resting against my face. She gently grazes the cut by my lip. Her touch sends tingling electric shocks through my skin, and I have to focus and refocus my mind again and again to keep myself from the acting on the itching desire to close the distance between our faces and kiss away the bruises on her cheek.

"Tris," I whisper, my lips brushing her fingers. "I'm alright."

"Why were you there?" she asks, her hand falling to her side.

"I was coming back from the control room." I say. "I heard a scream."

"What did you do to them?" I asks.

"I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago," I say. "Peter and Al ran. Drew claimed they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that's what he was trying to say."

"He's in bad shape?"

"He'll live," I say regrettably, even though killing was never on my mind. "In what condition, I can't say."

She squeezes my arm which I take as approval for my actions. "Good," she says.

Anger burns in her eyes. Tears of frustration spill over and run down her face, trailing little rivers down her cheeks and dotting her shirt with damp spots. I crouch by her side, eyes level with hers, watching her carefully. Her tears aren't to draw sympathy from me, nor will I offer it to her. To show her sympathy would be to belittle her, and I would never insult her in that manner. It is for this very reason that I have buried my identity – out of fear that those who hold me with respect will be replaced with people who drown me with shaming looks of sympathy because I'm the poor, helpless child with the mean father. Sometimes, these fears keep me up at night because beneath my hard exterior lies the horrible, gnawing truth that is tearing my conscience apart and threatening to rip me from the faction that I now call home – the truth that my running away is the single most cowardly action I have ever taken, and cowardice does not, in any way, shape, or form, belong in Dauntless. I choose not to show my vulnerable side for this very reason – because I don't want people to look at me like I'm a kicked puppy. For Tris to allow tears to spill over, after all that she's been through, shows courage more than anything. It shows that she isn't afraid to show her vulnerability because those who are capable to dealing with pain at their weakest are stronger than those who shut out their feelings altogether to keep the pain away. I have a lot to learn from her.

I reach out and rest my hand on her face, gently fingering her bruises as if one swipe of my finger can erase all lingering signs of the attack. But it doesn't work like that. Life doesn't work like that. Our bodies don't work like that.

"I could report this," I say, even though I know she has way too much pride to resort to tattling. A fight amongst initiates must be settle by initiates.

"No," she says. "I don't want them to think I'm scared."

I nod. "I figured you would say that."

"You think it would be a bad idea if I sat up?"

"I'll help you."

I wrap one hand around her shoulder, slide the other behind her head, and gently ease her body into a sitting position. Her face twists into an expression of pain, but no noise of complaint comes from her lips. I hand her the ice pack.

"You can let yourself be in pain, it's just me here," I tell her. "I suggest you rely on your transfer friends to protect you from now on."

"I thought I was, but Al…" she lets out a horrible, shuddering sob. _A friendship gone sour_, I think. The worst kind of betrayal, after all, is betrayal by someone you thought you could rely on.

"He wanted you to be the small, quiet girl from Abnegation," I offer, even though no explanation can truly erase the bitter blood between the two. "He hurt you because your strength made him feel weak. No other reason."

She nods slowly.

"The others won't be as jealous if you show some vulnerability. Even if it isn't real." I say.

"You think I have to _pretend _to be vulnerable?" she raises an eyebrow at me.

"Yes, I do." I say. I take the ice pack from her hands and hold it against her head myself. I've never realized it before, but we're more alike than I thought. In the public eye, we both wear hard shells that tuck our vulnerability away in a secure pocket, never really letting our fragile side show, but the difference between us is she lets that shell down when she's with me, while I still wear it out of fear that she will not like the _other_ me – the one that wakes up in a panic in the middle of the night because I am haunted by my past. Tris trusts me enough to let me see this side of her because she knows it wouldn't change my judgement of her, so why am I so unwilling to let myself go as well?

What do I have to lose?

I stand up and pace the room. "You're going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow and show your attackers they had no effect on you," I say, "but you should let that bruise on your cheek show, and keep your head down."

"I don't think I can do that," she says hollowly.

"You have to." I shoot back.

"I don't think you _get _it." She presses. Anger rises to her face, turning her cheeks pink. "They touched me."

I freeze. My body tightens instinctively; my limbs are as rigid and cold as the ice pack that is being crushed in my hand. It takes everything in me to keep from running to the initiates' dormitory and giving the boys the punishment they deserve. "Touched you," I repeat coldly.

"Not…in the way you're thinking." She clears her throat. "But…almost."

_Almost_.

_Almost_ means nothing.

_Almost_ could easily have escalated to the real thing seeing as their intentions were headed in that direction.

_What if I hadn't been there to stop them?_

I'm not a big believer in karma, but just this once, I whisper for God to be despicable. _What goes around comes around, right?_ I hope what comes around for them is so horrible that their screams can be heard in the fiery pits of Hell.

I remain silent for a long time. Tris gets restless. She explores my room with her eyes, dragging them across every surface carefully as if each artifact holds a story about me. _The life of Four, as told by the alarm clock resting on the desk, the sock on the floor, and the half empty soda can_. Eventually, she breaks the silence. "What is it?"

"I don't want to say this, but I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand? But please, when you see an opportunity…" I tuck my hand under her chin and tilt her head up so I can look directly into her eyes because I want to see the confirmation in her eyes that she will take it upon herself to right this wrong. "Ruin them."

She laughs nervously. "You're a little scary, Four."

"Do me a favor," I say, "and don't call me that."

"What should I call you, then?"

"Nothing." I smile a little. "Yet."

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you all liked this chapter!<strong>

**Like always, tell me what you think, leave me a review, you know.**

**The next chapter's gonna be Four's landscape so I'm really looking forward to writing it! I hope it can do it justice!**

**Until next time, have a good one guys.**


	16. Chapter 16

Tris sleeps in my room tonight.

After several unconvincing arguments on her part, I finally manage to persuade her that sleeping in the same room with the people who just attacked her is not a good idea.

I settle on a makeshift bed on the floor, no more than two feet away from my own bed, where Tris lays facing away from me. Eventually, I fall asleep to the sound of Tris's steady breathing.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I jerk awake with my heart racing, certain I have heard Tris screaming my name. My head jerks wildly from side to side, searching the darkness of my room for that shadow that looks out of place, the one that spells out immediate danger, but my fear is only an extension of my imagination.

Beside me, Tris's chest moves up and down to the steady rhythm of her soft breathing. Without the harshness of the light, the bruises on her face are almost masked by the dim shadows of the night. It's almost too easy to forget that she wasn't driven to the sanctuary of my room for the sake of her safety – that instead, she had found her way to me by herself, willingly, because out of a crazy stroke of luck – dare I say it – she likes me as much as I like her.

Maybe one day that will be her reason for being here. _Maybe_. I pray to whoever is listening above for luck to be on my side just this once.

Slowly, my eyes drift shut with the heaviness of sleep, but before I lose all consciousness, I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards in a slight smile.

Through the periwinkle light in my room, I can make out the slumbering body beside mine. Dawn must be just around the corner, or maybe the sun has already completed its slow climb over the pink horizon. Without a single window in my room, it's hard to tell. I am dizzy as I sit up. The air feels humid and sweltering under the sweater I have draped over myself, and my hands are clammy as I clench and unclench my fists. I clutch my spinning head firmly in my hands and count backwards until I feel some semblance of stability.

The electric hum of the refrigerator is a familiar and gentle backdrop and the alarm clock on my desk lets out a quiet beep as the numbers tick forward from 7:59 AM to 8:00 AM. The sun must have come up ages ago, lighting the way for those who are required to be up early so they don't have to fumble down the streets in complete darkness. Tris is still fast asleep so I make my way to my bathroom as quietly as I can and run a shower. The steaming water unravels every last knot in my body. When I step out, a layer of vapor hangs lazily in the air, coating the mirror with a slick layer of condensation. I drag my hand across its surface and stare at my reflection until the mirror mists over again.

There's a glow in my eyes that I have never seen before, and I don't know whether it should be credited to the soothing shower or Tris's presence on the other side of the door.

I pull on my clothes and open the door, grateful for the gust of cool air that hits my face.

"Hi," Tris, who is now awake, says casually as she looks away from the mirror hanging from my wall.

I gently run my fingers over the bruise on her cheek which has turned purple with splashes of murky blue. "Not bad," I say. "How's your head?"

"Fine," she says, though I'm almost positive she's lying.

I drop a hand to her ribs. "And your side?"

"Only hurts when I breathe."

I smile gently. "Not much you can do about that,"

"Peter would probably throw a party if I stopped breathing," she says.

"Well, I would only go if there was cake." I joke.

She laughs at my joke, but her smile is distorted into a wince as she presses a hand over the one that I have on her ribcage. Carefully, I slide my hand away, not wanting to hurt her anymore that I have to.

Together, we walk down to the dining hall. The clattering noise of silverware hitting ceramic plates can be heard from quite some distance away.

"I'll go in first," I say when we're hovering outside the doors of the dining hall. "See you soon, Tris."

Shauna and Zeke are already plowing through their breakfast by the time I sit down at the table.

"Morning," Shauna says without looking up from her toast. Apparently, buttering your toast takes the upmost concentration nowadays.

"Rough night?" Zeke asks, gesturing to the cut by my lip with his half eaten bran muffin.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "You have no idea."

"Whoa," Lauren says, her eyes shining with a subtle hint of alarm. With dark circles under my eyes, the cut on my face and my disheveled hair, I must look terrible. "What happened last night? Did you get into a fight with someone? It wasn't Eric, was it? Tell me it wasn't him. You know he will make your life a living hell if you cross him."

"Jeez, slow down." I snap. "Yes, there was a fight, but it wasn't my fight. Peter, Drew and Al attacked Tris."

"What? Oh my god," she says. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine."

"Three guys against one Stiff?" Zeke says. "That's hardly even fair."

"Fair? You think they know anything about fighting fair?" I say. "Eric has them fighting each other to unconsciousness. He made me throw knives at a live target to _scare_ them. Fighting fair is probably the last thing on their minds right now."

"You should have taken up Max's offer when you had the chance. Initiation wouldn't be half as brutal with you in charge instead of Eric."

"Yeah, I know. But it's too late for that now."

Something catches Shauna's eye, and she nudges my ribs to to steal my attention away from my bagel. Through the doors shuffles Drew, whose skin is more blotches of purple and blue than his normal pinkish skin tone. A spark of pride ignites within me. Peter and Al may have gotten away last night, but at least they will have Drew as an example for the punishment they deserve for their actions.

"On second thought," Zeke stifles a laugh. "I don't think the initiates would that much better off with you either."

I roll my eyes at him. "Neither will you if you don't keep your mouth shut about this."

I stuff the rest of my bagel into my mouth and mumble unintelligibly, "I gotta go. Fear landscape day."

"See you later." They both wave me off as I walk over to the initiates' table.

"Transfers. We're doing something different today," I announce. "Follow me."

I lead the lot out of the dining hall and around the spiraling paths that surround the Pit, climbing higher and higher toward the sliver of light beaming through the glass ceiling above me. One look below is enough to send me plunging into a sea of terror with nothing to act as my life boat, so I keep my eyes trained on what's in front and above me.

Two years ago, when fear landscapes were the first stage of initiation, I was lead up these very same steps by Amar, my instructor. My eyes stole a brief glance at the ground dropping away beneath us, and that was enough to undo any courage that I had. It was Amar who noticed the way my breathing quickened and the way fat beads of sweat begun coating my skin the farther up we advanced. _Fear will only succeed if you allow it to control you_, he told me. So I took his words to heart and stopped letting my fear of heights control me by overlooking the hollow space beneath me and focusing on what is above. It was him who gave me a new life, who erased Tobias from existence and renamed me Four. He was the greatest mentor I've ever had, and I'm sorry every single day that his life had ended so early and abruptly.

Two years ago, I never thought I would one day have the courage and confidence to fully navigate the narrow pathways of the Dauntless compound with ease, but now, after walking these steps seemingly millions of times, I know the place like the back of my hand. I turn around to make sure everyone is following. Drew, swollen and bruised, trudges along slowly, falling a couple of steps behind everyone else. "Pick up the pace, Drew!" I call out. It's a cruel joke, but Drew should know all about being cruel.

My eyes flicker to Tris to catch the smile that I want to see on her face because she, out of everyone here, would understand the joke. And sure enough, her lips are upturned in a gratifying smile, but there is something else about her that I've noticed – she has her arm snaked around Will's. My smile abruptly drops from my lips as my head is submerged in unexpected and irritating disappointment. I thought I knew jealousy when I stood silently on the corner of my street, watching children being coddled by their parents the way I never have been, but this feelings is something entirely different. _This is what jealousy must really feel like_, I think, trying out the taste of this new emotion on my tongue. It's full of bitterness and hot anger and I don't like it one bit.

I turn back around and continue to lead the initiates forward, past the training facilities and into a worn down room lit by fluorescent lights.

"This is a different kind of simulation known as the fear landscape. It has been disabled for our purposes, so this isn't what it will be like the next time you see it," I say. "Through your simulations, we have stored data about your worst fears. The fear landscape accesses that data and presents you with a series of virtual obstacles. Some of the obstacles will be fears you previously faced in your simulations. Some may be new fears. The difference is that you are aware, in the fear landscape, that it is a simulation, so you will have all your wits about you as you go through it."

_Though it doesn't make it any easier_, I think, but I don't say it out loud. Fear, under certain circumstances, is capable of overpowering even the strongest, most disciplined people. Fear is the heart of failure, and failure will not be tolerated this far into initiation.

"The number of fears in your landscape varies according to how many you have," I continue. "I told you before that the third stage of initiation focuses on mental preparation. That is because it requires you to control both your emotions and your body—to combine the physical abilities you learned in stage one with the emotional mastery you learned in stage two. To keep a level head."

To be honest, I never quite understood why fear landscapes were once the first things we went through upon initiation. The sequential rhythm of the stages of initiation now makes so much more sense.

A light bulb flickers and sputters above my head, making the room blink in varying degrees of dimness. My eyes stop scanning the initiates and settle on Tris.

"Next week you will go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible in front of a panel of Dauntless leaders. That will be your final test, which determines your ranking for stage three. Just as stage two of initiation is weighted more heavily than stage one, stage three is weighted heaviest of all. Understood?" Everyone nods.

"You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example." I shrug. "So I suggest that you take the next week to consider your fears and develop strategies to face them."

"That doesn't sound fair," Peter whines. "What if one person only has seven fears and someone else has twenty? That's not their fault."

I stare at him – the boy who stabbed another initiate in the eye while he was asleep, the same boy who had rounded up two others to attack a girl half his size just last night – incredulous at the thought that the idea of fairness even exists in his mind. "Do you really want to talk to me about what's fair?"

As I walk towards him, the crowd initiates part around me like matching sides of magnets repelling the other away. I cross my arms, never breaking eye contact, and savor the satisfaction of finally being able to put Peter in his place. "I understand why you're worried, Peter. The events of last night certainly proved that you are a miserable coward." He stays utterly still, showing no effort to rebut, and no effort to dispute. "So now we all know that you are afraid of a short, skinny girl from Abnegation."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Drew wince at my words. Off to the side, Tris stands with Will and Christina wearing a small but distinct smile on her face. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Peter, in some ways, exhibits perfect Dauntless traits. It's a sickening thought, but it's also the truth. His act of cowardice spawned from his injured pride. The fact that someone who he no doubt thinks less of has beaten him as his own game is, to him, an appalling reality, and the only way to face that awful defeat is to exert his dominance over those who he believes should be weak. It's cruel, and it's gutless, but people are willing to astonishing lengths to salvage their pride.

After all, what is more important to a Dauntless than their pride?

Nothing.

It is our greatest weakness.

X X X

Something terrible happens tonight.

My head snaps up at the sound of two rapid knocks on my door. I wasn't expecting company, so I quick throw on a wrinkled t-shirt and try to rub the imprint of my pillow from my cheek.

Lauren stands on the other side of the door, a blur of violently quavering lips and flying brown hair as she sobs hysterically, "It's Al, Four, it's Al! He threw himself into the chasm!"

My blood is raging but my heart is icy, like it's anaesthetized.

"Oh," I choke in an undertone. I clinch Lauren in my arms. "Hey, it's going to be okay." I say, but I'm probably reassuring myself more than anyone.

This happens every year; one initiate cracks under the pressure so they pitch themselves over the edge. Why is it that we, as a faction, have never taken a hint from the countless number of lost lives to realize that maybe our methods are flawed?

Lauren rubs her eyes raw with the back of her hands. Slowly, her frantic sobs become quiet hiccups, and she murmurs over and over again, "I wish they would do something about this. We should do something."

I know she's right. We should do something.

But in the end, she leaves silently with her arms wrapped around herself, and I stare after her down the empty, dank hallway pushing the thoughts flooding into my head that scream with increasing intensity _this is your fault!_

My feet carry me down the stony paths. I turn down random hallways, wandering around aimlessly until I realize every turn I make leads me away from the chasm. Eric is, without a doubt, relaying a phony speech about the courageousness of Al – the vivacity with which he lived each day! I don't know what's worse – the fact that the only respect to be earned from Eric is when you're dead, or that the Dauntless down there are eating his words up willingly because they share the same belief that suicide is a brave and honourable act.

This is ridiculous.

Ahead, a soft figure bobs around in the darkness. As I get closer, I recognize the waves of blonde hair and her slender figure.

"Tris."

"What are you doing here?" she says, her tone tense and edgy. "Shouldn't you be paying your respects?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"Can't pay respect if you don't have any," she says, but as soon as the words come out, guilt twists her face into a pained expression. "I didn't mean that." They were friends, after all, even if he did attack her. One wrong can't possibly undo all of the rights or else there would be no such thing as forgiveness.

"Ah." Whether or not there is a chance that she will forgive him, I don't know. But I do know Al lost her respect not because of his actions against her, but his actions against himself. Abnegation believes suicide is, ultimately, an act of selfishness. Somewhere inside Tris still lives the grey clothed Abnegation girl who lives by their customs and abides by their rules. It is this girl who has given up on Al.

"This is ridiculous," she says heatedly. "He throws himself off a ledge and Eric's calling it brave? Eric, who tried to have you throw knives at Al's head? He wasn't brave! He was depressed and a coward and he almost killed me! Is that the kind of thing we respect here?"

"What do you want them to do?" I say. "Condemn him? Al's already dead. He can't hear it and it's too late."

"It's not about Al," she says irritably. "It's about everyone watching! Everyone who now sees hurling themselves into the chasm as a viable option. I mean, why not do it if everyone calls you a hero afterward? Why not do it if everyone will remember your name? It's…I can't…" I wonder how long she has been repressing her pent up anger. I want to comfort her, I _need_ to comfort her and tell her to calm down, but she is a ticking time bomb.

"This would never have happened in Abnegation!" she says furiously. "None of it! Never. This place warped him and ruined him, and I don't care if saying that makes me a Stiff, I don't care, I don't care!"

My eyes shift immediately to a spot on the wall at the end of the pathway, right above a water fountain, where I know there is a security camera.

"Careful, Tris," I warn, eyeing the camera carefully. Silently, I pray for the off chance that whoever is working in the control room is preoccupied with watching the commotion in the Pit.

"Is that all you can say?" she scowls at me. "That I should be careful? That's it?"

"You're as bad as the Candor, you know that?" I sigh indignantly. _Why is she being so difficult?_

I grab her arm and tow her away from the spying camera above the fountain, but we're not entirely safe even though we're out of the camera's range. I don't think safety will be granted to us so long as our divergence is crawling under our skin. "I'm not going to say this again, so listen carefully." I urge, grasping her shoulders firmly with my hands, my fingers digging into her skin as if they're trying to bury my words under her skin so she has no choice but to recognize the urgency of her situation. "They are watching you. _You_, in particular."

"Let go of me," she murmurs, and I loosen my grip instantly. I didn't realize how hard I've been gripping her. Sometimes I feel like there are just too many things weighing on my mind at once and I can't control my thoughts or even my body at times. I can't afford to lose control like this in front of Tris.

"Are they watching you, too?" she says quietly.

_Yes_, I want to confess. They probably have been ever since I set foot into this place. You're not easily forgotten if you're one of the few Abnegation who choose to leave their faction. I transferred for the sake of my safety, but now, I question my choices more than ever because behind the walls of the Dauntless compound are ghosts who whisper, spy, and betray the safety of everyone who is deemed unworthy by the standards of our twisted leaders.

"I keep trying to help you," I say, "but you refuse to be helped."

"Oh, right. Your _help_," she rolls her eyes. "Stabbing my ear with a knife and taunting me and yelling at me more than you yell at anyone else, it sure is helpful."

"Taunting you? You mean when I threw the knives? I wasn't taunting you," I snap. "I was reminding you that if you failed, someone else would have to take your place."

She stays silent for a few seconds, and then says, "Why?"

"Because you're from Abnegation, and it's when you're acting selflessly that you are at your bravest." I say, but as the words come out of my mouth, I can't help but think about how everything I have done has ultimately turned me into a walking paradox. Yes, I do believe the Abnegation are at their bravest when they are acting selflessly. Leaving my faction for my own benefit was a selfish act, which not only proves me to be weak, but also a coward. Yet, my selfish and cowardly act has landed me in the very faction that values bravery and detests cowardice.

It's funny how events unfold.

I turn my attention back to Tris. "If I were you, I would do a better job of pretending that selfless impulse is going away," I warn, "because if the wrong people discover it…well, it won't be good for you."

"Why? Why do they care about my intentions?"

"Intentions are the _only_ thing they care about. They try to make you _think_ they care about what you do, but they don't. They don't want you to act a certain way. They want you to think a certain way. So you're easy to understand. So you won't pose a threat to them." I shift my weight and lean into the stone wall, conscious of the fact that my subtle movement has reduced the distance between Tris and I.

"I don't understand," she says, her brows furrowing in confusion, "why they care what I think, as long as I'm acting how they want me to."

"You're acting how they want you to now, but what happens when your Abnegation-wired brain tells you to do something else, something they don't want?"

_Individual thought is a plague to a dictatorship because it has the ability to poison its community into revolt and chaos_. And revolt and chaos is absolutely unacceptable.

"I might not need you to help me. Ever think about that?" she says. "I'm not weak, you know. I can do this on my own."

"You think my first instinct is to protect you. Because you're small, or a girl, or a Stiff. But you're wrong." I tuck my fingers under her chin and tilt her face up so she's looking into my eyes. I need her to understand that I do not see her as the weak link in our system. "My _first_ instinct is to push you until you break, just to see how hard I have to press…but I resist it."

"Why…why is that your first instinct?"

"Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up. I've seen it. It's fascinating." I trail my fingers along her jaw, down her neck, her skin warm against my touch. "Sometimes I just…want to see it again. Want to see you awake."

She leans in, wrapping her arms around me and resting her head against my chest. My stomach knots at the sudden intimate gesture. It feels wrong that I am the one urging her to cast away her Abnegation roots when I still wear the same traits under my skin. _You're a Dauntless_, I remind myself. _Showing affection is not a misdemeanor here._ So I snake my arms around her, my palms pressing against the small of her back, and pull her closer. Our mismatched height allows her head rests precisely over my heart. I try to tell my heart to remain composed, to stop beating so frantically, but it's like when you're at a tall height and someone tells you not to look down – you do it anyway.

"Should I be crying?" she murmurs into my shirt. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"You think I know anything about tears?" I say quietly.

"If I had forgiven him, do you think he would be alive now?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say, and it's the only honest answer I can offer.

"I feel like it's my fault." She sighs heavily.

I lean in and touch my forehead to hers. "It isn't your fault," I say firmly. In truth, it was a collective effort from all of us that led to Al's suicide. No one is irrational enough to be driven to death's edge by the actions of one person.

"But I should have. I should have forgiven him."

"Maybe. Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time." I say, realizing too late that the words spilling out are relayed from my memories of Mr. Prior's lectures.

Tris pulls back and frowns, crinkling the skin between her eyebrows. "What faction did you come from, Four?"

"It doesn't matter," I say hastily. "This is where I am now. Something you would do well to remember for yourself."

Tris doesn't press on about the matter, but her eyes still hold a peculiar shade of perplexity. I shouldn't hide my past anymore. She deserves to know.

My life has been an ocean voyage. It has sunny days, stormy breaks, calm waters, and roaring waves; each day as unpredictable as the next. But one thing has always certain: there will always be a beacon of light on shining on the horizon to help me navigate whatever is thrown my way. Over time, many names have filled that spot: my mother, who used to be my rock; Amar, who helped me become the person I have always wanted to be; Zeke and Shauna, who have stuck with me through thick and thin; and now Tris, who I am learning to trust and appreciate. I am her instructor, yes, but over the course of initiation, I feel like she has taught me more than I have taught her. In reality, I am the one with a lesson to learn.

And she has been one hell of a teacher.

I touch my lips to her forehead, hoping she will accept this small gesture as compensation for hiding myself from her for so long. We stay this way for a long time, and for the first time in my life, I finally feel free.

X X X

As I climb the steps to my room, I can still feel the ghost of Tris's fingers lightly grazing my back and I shiver at the lingering memory of her soft touch. I come to a stop outside my room, my hand hovering above the door handle. My body is tired, but my mind is wide awake. Sleeping without a sound mind has brought me nothing but waking nightmares in the past. I know I will regret this decision tomorrow, but I utterly refuse to slug through another fitful night. Before I have second thoughts, I let my feet lead me back the way I came from and up the stairs to the fear landscape.

Halfway up the stairs, I realize I am being followed. The sound of the soft and steady footsteps tells me it's Tris who is trailing behind me. When I reach the room, I swipe two syringes that are resting on a shiny plastic tabletop. "Since you're here," I say without looking at her, "you might as well go in with me."

"Into your fear landscape?" she says hesitantly.

"Yes."

"I can do that?"

"The serum connects you to the program," I say, "but the program determines whose landscape you go through. And right now, it's set to put us through mine."

"You would let me see that?"

"Why else do you think I'm going in?" I say quietly, knowing that this decision, albeit difficult, will be the one to truly unbind me from the chains that, over the years, have slowly grind its way to my bones. "There are some things I want to show you."

I hold up the syringe, repeating the same string of actions I have performed seemingly hundreds of times during stage two of initiation, but somehow, the syringe feels strange and foreign in my hands as I ease it into her neck and inject the simulation serum. Maybe it's because I am the one being exposed this time. I hold out the box carrying the other syringe and offer it to Tris.

"I've never done this before," she says nervously as she takes the syringe out of the box.

"Right here," I tap a spot on my neck. She pushes the tip of the needle in, her hands trembling slightly despite the steadiness in her eyes. Which am I accountable for? Her nervousness or her composure? Both, I hope.

When she's done, I take the syringe from her and set the box on the floor. We walk hand in hand into my fear landscape, my heart hammering a mile a minute. I've gone through my fear landscapes so many times that I fully know what to expect every time I step into the room, but I wonder if this will change with Tris here beside me. Will it be harder or easier? Each time I have gone through this, I have had a calm and collected mind to guide myself through each fear, but Tris makes me flustered, and it's going to be a lot harder to calm my heartbeat with her so close to me. "See if you can figure out why they call me Four," I say.

"What's your real name?" she asks.

"See if you can figure that out too."

The simulation erases the sturdy cement floor under my feet; it is replaced by a rickety old metal building instead. The city stretches on before us, reaching all the way to the horizon where it meets the sky in kissing shades of blue and grey. It's a breathtaking view, and I might be able to enjoy it if not for the fact that I am hundreds of feet off of the ground.

The wind starts howling madly, and I have to wrap an arm around Tris's shoulders to steady myself. It's irrational and stupid because I know this is only a simulation, but the wind feels like it's going to sweep me right off of my feet and carry me far, far away – far enough so that I will never be able find my way back again. It's terrifying.

"We have to jump off, right?" Tris yells over the wind.

I sneak a glance over the side of the building and instantly feel my insides clench up. I can't speak; all of my efforts are focused on steadying my breathing. I nod.

"On three, okay?"

I nod again.

"One…two…_three_!" she yells as she pulls me into a run, each step bringing me closer to the edge of the building. My feet leave solid ground, and for a second, I teeter on the edge between hard metal and rushing emptiness. And then I veer over the edge into nothing but air. For a fraction of a second, it feels like I'm suspended in the air, like a puppet hanging limply from strings, but then we fall, and the ground rushes up to meet us at a terrifying pace. The weightless sensation makes my stomach churn, and I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from throwing up, but I still taste bile in my throat. And then it hits me stronger than ever: the sheer terror of my body slamming into the hard concrete ground below and pushing the life out of me – but it doesn't happen.

My feet stand on solid ground again, but I'm still reeling from the fall. I clutch my chest as I wait for the wave of terror to wash through me. Beside me, Tris looks unfazed by everything, as if we didn't just jump from a hundred story building. She stands up and offers me her hand.

"What's next?"

"It's – " the walls slam into me before I can finish speaking. Concrete walls trap me from all sides, pressing Tris closer to me.

"Confinement," Tris breathes against my shirt.

_It's not real_, I remind myself, but the warmth radiating from Tris's body is quickly replaced by the coldness of the barren walls pressing into me, and instead of the scent of Tris's shampoo, I smell stale, musky air. It all feels so, so real. The collapsing walls break into my memory, into that locked box inside me. _The air. The stale, suffocating air that always smells like dust and something ancient. _I let out a rasping breath.

"Hey, it's okay. Here – " Tris says, wrapping my arms around her willowy frame. I hold her against me tightly, knowing she wouldn't break, but even the feel of her skin pressed against mine can't drive away the haunting memories.

_The tiny sliver of light that shone through the thin crack between the doors that illuminated the inside just enough to show the dusty corners. A heavy chair pushed up against the doors to block my escape. Dry sobs which always grew to hoarse screams. The walls seemed to grow hands that grabbed at my clothing and smothered my breathing. "You'll do well to remember the repercussions the next time you think about disobeying me," my father would say sternly. And the crushing anxiety. I always thought the frantic hammering of my heart would kill me, and my father would eventually find me limp and unresponsive, tucked away neatly in that dank little closet._

"This is the first time I'm happy I'm so small," Tris's voice cuts through.

"Mmhmm," I manage. I concentrate on the sound of her breathing. It helps me to claw my way out of those memories and back into my fear landscape.

"We can't break out of here," she says. "It's easier to face the fear head on, right?" "So what you need to do is make the space smaller. Make it worse so it gets better. Right?"

"Yes." I admit. _Make it worse._

"Okay. We'll have to crouch, then. Ready?" she pulls me down with her into a crouch. We are a tangle of limbs trapped in this small space. The walls shift even closer. I take a deep breath in, and inhale pure terror. Cold sweat ices my back and neck. "Ah, this is worse. This is definitely…"

"Shh," she soothes. "Arms around me."

I wrap my arms obediently around her, but it does nothing to calm my nerves. If this was happening in any place but here, I would be overcome with joy.

"The simulation measures your fear response," she murmurs softly into my ear. "So if you can calm your heartbeat down, it will move on to the next one. Remember? So try to forget that we're here."

"Yeah? That easy, huh?"

"You know, most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl." She says indignantly.

"Not claustrophobic people, Tris!"

"Okay, okay." She takes my hand and holds it against her chest, over her heart. "Feel my heartbeat. Can you feel it?"

"Yes."

"Feel how steady it is?"

I feel a slight smile creeping in. Her heartbeat is far from steady_._ "It's fast." I point out.

"Yes, well, that has nothing to do with the box." _Oh?_ "Every time you feel me breathe, you breathe. Focus on that."

"Okay."

For a few seconds, we sit in silence as I try to sync the rising of my chest to hers.

"Why don't you tell me where this fear comes from. Maybe talking about it will help…somehow." she offers.

"Um…okay," _One thing at a time,_ I tell myself. _Break yourself into pieces and hand it to her one at a time. She will be able to solve the puzzle eventually. _"This one is from my fantastic childhood. Childhood punishments. The tiny closet upstairs."

"My mother kept our winter coats in our closet." She says casually.

"I don't…" I trail off as the wall behind me presses in closer and causes a fresh wave of panic to wash over me. "I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay. Then…I can talk. Ask me something."

"Okay. Why is your heart racing, Tris?" A shaky laugh escapes my lips as I remember her say _feel how steady it is?_

"Well, I…" she struggles for an answer. "I barely know you. I barely know you and I'm crammed up against you in a box, Four, what do you think?"

I'm calling out your bluff, Tris.

"If we were in your fear landscape," I say, "would I be in it?"

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Of course you're not. But that's not what I meant."

And then, incredibly and unexpectedly, I laugh. I laugh, half with amusement at her awkward confessions, and half with relief at the reality that she actually likes me. The walls burst away instantly, washing us in a pale, blinding light. I get up and stretch my limbs, grateful for the open space, but also missing the feel of the curves of Tris's body pressed against mine.

"Maybe you were cut out for Candor," I say, "because you're a terrible liar."

"I think my aptitude test ruled that one out pretty well." She huffs.

I shake my head. "The aptitude test tells you nothing." And the results mean nothing because in the end, your choices are guided by your own desires, not the outcomes of a virtual simulation.

"What are you trying to tell me? Your test isn't the reason you ended up Dauntless?"

"Not exactly, no, I…" my voice trails off at the familiar sound of a bullet clicking into place. I look over my shoulder, and there she is: the anonymous woman whose life I have to take every time.

"You have to kill her," Tris states, her eyes squaring in on the table that has materialized to her right. On it is the gun that I use every time to shoot the woman in front of me.

"Every single time." I say, but no matter how many times I face this fear, it never gets any easier.

"She isn't real."

"She looks real…it feels real." Out of all of my fears, this one has always been the easiest one to face only because it is a different kind of fear. Instead of the choking terror that I usually feel, a leaden numbness fills my mind and turns my body as rigid as ice.

"If she was real, she would have killed you already." Tris reasons.

"It's okay." I exhale slowly. I need to get this over with. "I'll just…do it. This one's not…not so bad. Not as much panic involved."

I pick up the gun, click the bullet into place, and fire a clean shot right into the woman's forehead. Her head whips back with a sickening crack, and as she falls to the floor, I drop the gun in my hand as if it's burning me, and they both fall in noisy clatters onto the cement floor. The panic comes after – it always does. I may be many things, but I am not a murderer. _This does not make you one_, I remind myself. But when I look at the puddle of blood pooling around her head, my breath catches in my throat and I know all too well that the type of fear this brings is far more damaging because it plays with your conscience. It plants the seed of guilt in you, and it grows and blossoms until the day you can no longer look at anybody without seeing the face of the person whose life fell at your hands.

_No wonder the factions were formed_, I think. Soldiers' minds were probably ravaged like this every day in our warring country. I can't even stand the thought of living with the guilt of taking one life let alone tens or even hundreds.

I feel a tug on my arm. "C'mon," Tris says, guiding me away from the body. "Let's go. Keep moving."

And so, I walk away from the body without so much as a backward glance. I'm leaving behind one horror just to walk straight into another one: my last fear, and also my most haunting fear.

A dark figure prowls along the edges of the shadows just out of sight's reach, but I don't need to see him to know it's my father. My entire body is taut as if all my muscles are coiled for flight. I know I cannot run, as much as I wish I could.

"Here we go," I whisper as he steps out of the shadows and into the harsh yellow light. He looks exactly as I remember him from two years ago: his posture poised and confident, a look of irritating smugness smudged across his face, his eyes cold and distant – the way they have always been since my mother left, and the dread of his displeasure hanging over him like a dreary rain cloud.

"Marcus," Tris breathes.

"Here's the part where you figure out my name." I say, my voice trembling the way it always does when I am confronted by my father.

"Is he…" she looks from Marcus to me. _I've laid out all of my cards on the table, Tris._ My ugly past, the nightmares hidden in the darkest corners of my mind, my weaknesses, and my fears – everything is out in the open now.

"Tobias." She finally says. Spot on. No matter what name I take on, I always be Marcus's runaway son.

I keep my eyes trained straight ahead on my father. For every step he takes towards me, I shuffle one step back. He brings his hands out from behind his back and unravels the leather belt that is wrapped around his fist.

Standing before my father, I feel a bit like I'm drowning. He stands there with his rigidness and silent resentment, a travesty of his much idolized honour and pride. The drowning sensation is so strange; this is only a simulation, I am Tobias Eaton, and I know how to swim.

But when his mouth draws out the six dreaded words _this is for your own good_, and – to my horror – a dozen imitations of him strut into the light, enclosing me in a circle of his black, pitiless stares, my nose slips past sloshing water and I choke.

I'm frozen like a statue, unable to move or think. When he draws back the belt, I shrink back and shield my face with my arms, like I've done thousands of times in the past, and wait for the stinging whip of supple leather and the hard metal buckle.

But it doesn't come.

I peek out between my hands, incredulous at the scene before me.

The belt is wrapped around Tris's wrist, the curl of the leather clinging to her arm like ivy. She gives it a forceful tug and frees the belt from my father's clenched fist and lashes it back at him. The belt strikes his shoulder with a piercing crack, a brown blur flashing by in the air as fast as a snake's flickering tongue.

He is angry. No, _angry_ inadequately describes his rage.

There are two sides to Marcus, and they are as different from each other as day and night. In the public's eye, he is a charming and vivacious man, capable of only honest words and humble actions. It is this side I believe to be the most dangerous. His modest personality draws people in like bait – it is what my mother fell for, and it was her life's greatest mistake. The other side, the darker side, knows only anger and violence. With him, it is a barren no-man's land between being content and flipping the switch to terrifying rage – and right now, he is absolutely livid.

In the past, when the switch inside him goes off, I always find myself cowering in a corner, praying for the heat to pass by quickly. But I won't hide from him anymore.

He lunges at Tris, his eyes burning with fiery rage. Without even a second of hesitation, I step around Tris and put myself in-between the two of them so he can't hurt her. He won't hurt her. No one will as long as I'm by her side.

And then he disappears. Everything around me disappears to be replaced by the busted brick walls of the fear landscape.

_Tris was willing to take the force of the blow for me._

"That's it?" she asks. "Those were your worst fears? Why do you only have four…"

_She tried to protect me from the man that I, myself, don't even have the courage to face._

"Oh. That's why they call you…" _Four_.

I stare at her, vigilantly, disbelievingly. I memorize every crease and every crinkle of her face as if there are rivers of secrets swimming in the lines of her face. I try to understand her – this girl who is willing to put herself on the line for the sake of my safety – something my own mother hasn't even done. I realize, for the first time, just how lucky I am to have stumbled upon someone as strong and special as Tris. Surely I don't deserve her, but who am I to mess with the blatant feelings of the girl who happens to care about me as much as I care about her?

I pull her into my chest, gathering her thin body into my arms. I want to be closer to her – I need to be closer to her.

"Hey," she says softly. "We got through it."

My fingers find stray strands of her hair and tuck them behind her ears. _She really has no idea what she just did._

"You got me through it," I tell her.

"Well, it's easy to be brave when they're not my fears." She says, casually wiping her hands on her jeans.

I find her hand and lace her fingers through mine. "Come on, I have something else to show you."

* * *

><p><strong>I know a lot of you were looking forward to the fear landscape chapter so I took a bit longer to write it to make sure it's not crap :p<br>I hope you guys enjoyed it.**

**And to make up for taking so long to update, I'll try to have the next chapter up within the next three days or so!**

**Comment, review, criticise, the lot, you know.**

**I appreciate everyone who's taken the time out of their day to read this!**


	17. Chapter 17

I lead Tris quietly towards the Pit. Without the constant bustle of people buzzing around, the cavernous space has taken on an eerie and haunting air. How many times have I walked this path alone? How many nights have I listened to the chasm whisper its drugged words to me, daring me to follow it, calling for me to join it?

The varying pressures of Tris's hand in mine remind me that tonight, I am not going to be alone. I stroke the back of her hand and rub circles on her skin – touches that have no real purpose except to reiterate the fact that we are together.

"So…" Tris starts. "Four fears."

"Four fears then; four fears now," I nod silently. "They haven't changed, so I keep going in there, but…I still haven't made any progress."

We walk along a path that stretches along the edge of the Pit to the bottom of the chasm. Not many people know this trail exists because it blends so seamlessly with the rock wall, and those who do don't use it often because they don't find much use for it. The roar of the chasm is thunderous; it is the loudest place in the compound, and also the quietest. It offers you an escape from yourself. It's the only place I can truly think.

"You can't be fearless, remember?" she says. "Because you still care about things. About your life."

"I know." I say, and then I fall silent, not because I choose to be, but because I find myself at a an unexpected lack of response that will explain my utterly irrational desire to eliminate fear completely from my mind.

When I was a child, I didn't consider myself to be anything more than ordinary. And sometimes, I considered myself to be less than ordinary, but that all changed when I came here. Four fears is unheard of, even amongst generations of Dauntless. Being here, it brought a euphoria and a sense of belonging that I have never known before. But over time, they faded as the realization that I don't, and never will completely, belong in Dauntless grew stronger and stronger each day. It's completely senseless for me to hope that my fears will diminish with time, but I guess I'm just looking for yet another reason to prove to myself that I do belong here despite all of the thoughts that tell me otherwise.

We hike carefully down the rocks, two dark shadows gliding through the air, skimming the surface of the rocky path that has remained untouched for who knows how long. "You were going to tell me about your aptitude test results." Tris says, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Ah." I fidget with my hands. It's a small and unconscious nervous habit that I have yet to kick. "Does it matter?"

"Yes. I want to know."

"How demanding you are." I smile, thinking back to the first day I met her and how her curiosity troubled me because I found it odd that an Abnegation would have such a inquisitive mind. Now, it is one of the quirks that I love most about her – the drive that she possesses to understand someone or something completely to the core, as if every person or thing is a puzzle that has been placed before her for her to figure out. I have even come to admire that about her. She would have fared well in Erudite, but I'm glad she chose Dauntless.

The path ends at the bottom of the chasm. Rocks jut out at odd angles over the water, all sharp and dewy and moistened by the mist from the tumbling water. I find the rock whose surface has been flattened and smoothed over time and take a seat like I have done thousands of times before today.

"These are things I don't tell people, you know." I say, carefully drawing out the words for subtle emphasis. "Not even my friends."

Not even you.

After all this time, I am still putting my own interests first. It's not that I don't trust Tris because I do – I trust her more than anyone else – but no amount of trust will persuade me to release the grip that I hold over the one secret that could mean my life or my death: that I am nearly imperceptibly but also utterly and unquestionably Divergent. It almost seems unfair that Tris had no choice but to reveal her Divergence to me while I can choose to hide as much of myself as I want at the choice of a few words spoken and unspoken. It is unfair, but I don't want my safety to be jeopardized at the hands of anyone but myself – especially after living sixteen years with my father.

"My result was as expected," I say, twisting my tale this way and that. "Abnegation."

"Oh." She says. She purses her lips in a straight line. It's a face she takes on when she's either thinking hard or disappointed. I feel horrible at the sight of her vaguely disheartened expression and I have to remind myself over and over that telling a half truth is not a sin worth dwelling on.

Is a half lie worth dwelling on?

"But you chose Dauntless anyway?" she asks.

"Out of necessity."

"Why did you have to leave?" she presses.

I fix my eyes on an empty spot just north of Tris's head. I feel hot shame coiling around inside me at my reluctance to admit my own weaknesses. Cooling mist from the chasm creeps over the rocks, settling around my feet and brushing past my skin to the empty spaces behind me. I wish I could be swept away with it.

"You had to get away from your dad," she says finally. "Is that why you don't want to be a Dauntless leader? Because if you were, you might have to see him again?"

I shrug. "That, and I've always felt that I don't quite belong among the Dauntless. Not the way they are now, anyway."

Maybe if old Dauntless traditions carried to this day, I might be able to call this place home, but it's not the same anymore. The beliefs, the aspirations, the practices – they're all different now. What used to be honourable and audacious has turned reckless and insensible. I don't want to belong to a place where every action and every thought is faced with an opposing challenge for the mere purpose of proving one's worth.

"But you're…incredible," she stares at me through eyes that are as large as the moon. "I mean, by Dauntless standards. Four fears is unheard of. How could you not belong here?"

I train my eyes on the scuff marks on my shoes. Every day, I feel like I am teetering precariously on a thin edge between two vastly different worlds. In the first, I am Four – a prodigy amongst the Dauntless. In the second, I am Tobias – a boy who is perpetually running from his fears physically, mentally, and emotionally. The two often blur together, intertwining with each other in passing smears until I am a muddle of uncertainty. I am a puzzle that I, myself, can't even figure out. However, along the way, I have learned a few lessons from the creases and crinkles in my life.

"I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren't all that different. All your life you've been training to forget yourself, so when you're in danger, it becomes your first instinct. I could belong in Abnegation just as easily." I say.

The Dauntless manifesto reads _we believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another_. It is this line that, I believe, forms the core of our faction. Courage isn't only present in dire situations; we exhibit our courage every day when we draw the strength to defy the norm and act in spite of everything else.

"Yeah, well," Tris says, "I left Abnegation because I wasn't selfless enough, no matter how hard I tried to be."

"That's not entirely true." I beam at her. "That girl who let someone throw knives at her to spare a friend, who hit my dad with a belt to protect me—that selfless girl, that's not you?"

She narrows her eyes accusingly. "You've been paying close attention, haven't you?"

"I like to observe people." I say nonchalantly though I am sure my cheeks are red, twining with cherry, easing into burgundy and fading into pink under the unwavering glow flaring in her enigmatic grey eyes.

"Maybe you were cut out for Candor, Four, because you're a terrible liar." She says, echoing the exact words I said to her earlier. Somewhere along the way, we both managed to nestle under each other's skin and grow to understand one another through a different set of eyes. Nothing I say escapes her, and I smile because I am worthy of her undivided attention.

"Fine." I confess. I lean closer and scrutinize her expression which is unreadable except for a glimmering hint of amusement. The lines on her face flow like rivers intertwining in lush grasslands, lovely and graceful. "I watched you because I like you."

Crimson blood flows to her cheeks in a rushing wave; in a heartbeat, with a breath. It's funny how our bodies voice our thoughts before they even escape our lips.

"And don't call me 'Four,' okay?" I add. "It's nice to hear my name again."

"But you're older than I am…_Tobias_." She says, making sure to place an exaggerated emphasis on my name.

"Yes, that whopping two-year gap really is _insurmountable_, isn't it?" I joke.

"I'm not trying to be self-deprecating," she says hastily. "I just don't get it. I'm younger. I'm not pretty. I—"

I can't help but laugh as if she's telling a funny joke. _Younger_ and _not pretty_ does not trump _selfless_ and _honourable_ and _brave_ and _beautiful_. I brush a kiss against her temple and learn that it is the loveliest thing to kiss and to be kissed for no reason at all.

"Don't pretend," she says, furrowing her brows slightly. "You know I'm not. I'm not ugly, but I am certainly not pretty."

"Fine," I cave. All efforts of rebuttal are futile with her. "You're not pretty. So?" I press my lips against her cheeks. When I pull away, they're quivering faintly like I'm whispering in an undertone. I wonder if there will ever be a point in time when the touch of her skin stops sending electric shocks through me. "I like how you look. You're deadly smart. You're brave. And even though you found out about Marcus…You aren't giving me that look. Like I'm a kicked puppy or something." _Like I'm weak_.

"Well," she says. "You're not."

My heart is thudding and I feel jittery because the few short seconds that we both remain immobile is enough time for my lips to find hers. And just before we kiss, the hint of a smile plays at the corners of my mouth. I hold her lips for a transitory, short-lived total of two seconds before I feel her tense up. I pull away, just slightly, to give her a second to gather herself.

And then we kiss again, more firmly this time and with no hesitation. I feel her arms snaking around me, forever encasing me in this moment in time.

I should be thinking about how risky this is and how the complications of initiation have just been kicked up a notch and how I may have just stupidly and recklessly painted a big fat target on her forehead, but instead, I am thinking about the way her head tucks perfectly on my chest, precisely over the spot where my heart is, and how the warmth of her body will feel when we walk along empty Dauntless pathways side by side.

All around me, the rushing water resonate with tales of euphoria and exhilarated happiness that echo through my bloodstreams and whisper words of complete and utter bliss and delight.

I have never felt more alive.

* * *

><p><strong>Just a quick update since I promised I would have this chapter up soon to make up for the time it took to write the previous one. I know I said I'd have this one up 'within the next three days' but I was busy with job interviews and friends' birthdays so I got held back a bit. (I got the job and I start today, ah!) It's a bit of a mess in some parts because I was feeling really uncreative so please excuse the chunks of rambling that don't make senseare poorly written.**

**Also, from now on, I'm going to write longer chapters because I noticed the majority of you like them more haha. And for those who are wondering, I am going to continue Four's POV with Insurgent and the third book although I haven't decided if I'm going to split it up into three stories or just continue on with this one.**

**Like always, I love reading all of your feedback so please take a moment to leave me a review and I'll do my best to take into account all of your criticism and use it to improve future chapters!**


	18. Chapter 18

I stand off to the side with Eric and a couple of Dauntless leaders while Lauren explains the workings of the fear landscape to the anxious group of initiates. I haven't had a chance to observe the Dauntless-born during stage one, but I know without watching that even their worst fighter can probably beat the best transfer fighter. However, the differences in their abilities will undoubtedly diminish greatly in the fear landscape.

In between simulations, I steal quiet glances at Tris. Not once do I find her looking back, but I suppose that is a good thing. It's best not to draw too much attention to ourselves with so many people present.

When it is Tris's turn, I watch Lauren inject the simulation serum into Tris's neck thinking all the while about how it should be me who's brushing her hair back and easing the syringe into her skin – it has always been me. I half-heartedly shake the thought out of my head. It's crazy that I doubt Lauren's ability to safely inject simulation serum, and even crazier that I'm getting jealous over such a small and ridiculous gesture.

Tris steps into the fear landscape, her face shining with pure determination. She knows as well as I do that what the others found difficult and tasking, she will breeze through with ease. Although I can't see the simulation, I watch the scene take place around her through the changes in her movements and facial expressions. Her composure twists to shock and panic, which grows to pure terror. Her mouth opens and lets out a horrible, grating shriek. The sound raises goosebumps along my arms. I've never seen her lose her wits so swiftly and unexpectedly; I've never seen her fail before.

"Stop," I instruct, and the dimmed lights in the fear landscape return to their usual brightness. Tris crouches in a heap on the floor, shaking and unnerved even as I make my way toward her and pull her back on her feet.

All I really want to do is wrap her in my arms and guide her through this fear like she did for me last night, but I can't be that person – not here, not now. I am Four, the instructor, and he would never coddle initiates when they fail so senselessly.

"What the hell was that, Stiff?" I snap.

"I…" she hiccups. "I didn't – "

I know it will hurt her, and already, I can feel reluctance creeping in at the edges, but I push the words out of my mouth anyway because I know it's necessary. "Get yourself together! This is pathetic."

The hurt expression she's been wearing slips away and is replaced by rage and fire. I've seen her like this before – during her one on one with Molly. The bitter resentment in her eyes sends shivers down my spine. I don't think she even knows how much she is controlled by her emotions. Before I know it, the hard ridges of her knuckles slam into my face, and I stand gaping, utterly taken aback by her willingness to hurt me at the expense of a few words.

"Shut up," she says, her voice dripping with bitter malice. She forcefully yanks her arm out of my grip and takes off, just like that, a blur of pale shadows disappearing into the hallway.

My feet shuffle half a hesitant step in her direction before I remember that I can't allow my emotions to get the better of me in front of everybody. Hurt feelings can always be repaired with a few gentle words; however, a bad ranking at the result of my impulsiveness and carelessness will earn her a ticket out of Dauntless forever, and I will never be able to forgive myself if that were to happen. In the end, I swallow my guilt and the creeping sense that I just lost something I never truly had, and turn my back on the door that Tris just stormed out of.

"Let's get on with this."

X X X

I storm out of the room after the remaining initiates have had a turn, desperate to seek shelter from Lauren's questioning stares. If I am cornered by her, I am bound to be bombarded by questions that I don't want to answer.

Tris is nowhere to be seen. I search in every crevice and every room, buzzing about like a fly without its head. Twice, I barge into Tori's tattoo parlour asking if she's seen her only to be told that I've been here already and that the answer is still no. By mid-afternoon, I am quiet, aloof, and defeated by the thought that looking for one girl amidst a sea of Dauntless is like looking for a needle in a haystack. I walk determinedly with no real destination in mind – just another habit to entertain my mind.

My feet carry me up to the glass building that rests on top of the compound, toward the fear landscape. I don't know whether I'm here because this is the place that birthed the solid grip of the relationship – however fleeting – between Tris and I, or because this is the place where I both insulted and belittled her, two things that I swore I would never do, that I swear to never do again.

Harsh words drift through the metal door at the end of the hallway, breaking the thick silence that lingered in the unoccupied hallway. Callous phrases said by an unkind voice, drabbles of a conversation that certainly isn't meant to be been overheard. Words like _forced to reconsider your rank_ and _attached to your previous faction _and _little Abnegation girl_. It doesn't take much to deduce that the voice belongs to Eric, and that the person being lectured is Tris. I have found her, my little runaway, through a purely unexpected and benign coincidence.

I burst through the door, much to Eric's surprise and Tris's relief. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Leave the room," he says forcefully, even though he should know by now that the power he holds over me never has and never will sway my actions and disposition.

"No," I say firmly. "She's just a foolish girl. There's no need to drag her here and interrogate her."

"Just a foolish girl." Eric snorts. "If she were just a foolish girl, she wouldn't be ranked first, now would she?"

He knows there is much more to Tris than the harmless girl I make her out to be. His logic and perceptiveness are honed to perfection from his previous life as an Erudite, and it would be foolish and dangerous to debate about the issues of Tris's true capabilities. I pinch the bridge of my nose the way I always do when I am trying to convey a plainly simple concept to a frustrating individual. To my utter relief, Tris seems to recall the advice that I've given her recently. _Show some vulnerability_.

"I…I was just embarrassed and didn't know what to do." Tris says quietly as her eyes drop to the floor in mock embarrassment. When she looks up again, the gleaming tears in her eyes catch me off guard and I silently praise her for being such a remarkable actress. "I tried to…and…"

"You tried to what?" Eric asks in a brusque manner.

"Kiss me," I interject. "And I rejected her, and she went running off like a five year old. There's really nothing to blame her for but stupidity."

Eric looks from Tris to me, and then lets out a series of hollow, barking laughs that sound like a chorus of the tortured cries of an animal. I flinch in pure irritation. "Isn't he a little too old for you, Tris?" he says.

Tris shies away from his unwavering eyes and pretends to wipe a tear off her cheek. "Can I go now?" she mumbles.

"Fine," he says, "but you are not allowed to leave the compound without supervision again, you hear me?"

He turns to me and points a crooked finger. "And you…had better make sure none of the transfers leave this compound again. And that none of the others try to kiss you."

I roll my eyes indignantly. "Fine."

Tris quietly walks outside, but Eric is still scrutinizing the both of us, so I follow her with my eyes instead of my feet. I want to wait for Eric to leave before I join Tris, so I make a show of fixing the buttons on my shirt and wiping my hands on my pants. However, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, it is clear he is not going to budge.

"What?" I ask.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Don't play me for a fool, Four. What she is to you, I can guess as much, so don't think I'm going to just let this little incident slip out of my head."

I scoff. "Don't tell me you're intimidated by a little Abnegation girl," I joke, though the lightheartedness of my words doesn't extend past my throat, and my spine is as rigid as ice. Eric's words ring out in my head repeatedly until they resemble nothing more than a jumble of meaningless noises. _What she is to you, I can guess as much_.

_How? _I have been so cautious, yet Eric is still able to see through the pretense of mine and Tris's neutral initiate-instructor relationship.

"You wish," he says. "Whatever. Just control your initiates before they get themselves into deeper trouble."

Eric reaches for the door and pauses momentarily with his hand hovering above the doorknob like he has more to say, but after a few seconds of silence, he retreats into the compound without a backward glance. As soon as he disappears down the hallway, I open the door that leads outside.

When Tris sees me walking towards her, she shoots up and crosses her arms defiantly, as if she is readying herself for a scolding.

"What?" she says.

"Are you all right?" I frown at a little red scratch on her cheek that wasn't there this morning and gently run my fingers over it, but she swats my hand away. It's such a minute act of annoyance, yet it makes my chest squeeze tightly in discontentment all the same. Last night, my touch would have been welcomed.

"Well," she snaps. "first I got reamed out in front of everyone, and then I had to chat with the woman who's trying to destroy my old faction, and then Eric almost tossed my friends out of Dauntless, so yeah, it's shaping up to be a pretty great day, _Four_." She says 'Four' like it's an insult. Standing here before her, I can feel my patience wilting away. It is no more fun for me to endure her anger every time she misinterprets my intentions than it is for her to be at the receiving end of my harsh words.

"Why do you care, anyway?" she says. "You can be either cruel instructor or concerned boyfriend." "You can't play both parts at the same time."

"I am not cruel." I scowl at her. "I was protecting you this morning. How do you think Peter and his idiot friends would have reacted if they discovered that you and I were…You would never win. They would always call your ranking a result of my favoritism rather than your skill."

She opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but after a few moments of silence, she decides against it and fidgets with her hands instead. I want her to say something – anything. I want to hear her voice, to know what she is thinking right now, but she retreats silently with a faraway look in her eyes. "You didn't have to insult me to prove something to them," she says finally.

"And you didn't have to run off to your brother just because I hurt you," I say. "Besides—it worked, didn't it?"

"At my expense." She points out.

"I didn't think it would affect you this way." I confess. "Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt." She exerts strength in such an extraordinary way that sometimes I forget she is not an indestructible slab of concrete, that she bleeds, and she feels, and she is just an ordinary sixteen year old girl.

And then, she does what every sixteen year old girl would do in a rare moment of understanding and reconciliation with the boy she fancies. She rises on her tiptoes and lightly presses her lips to mine.

"You're brilliant, you know that?" she shakes her head sheepishly. "You always know exactly what to do."

"Only because I've been thinking about this for a long time," I say, and kiss her again briefly. "How I would handle it, if you and I…did I hear you call me your boyfriend, Tris?" My lips quirk up in a lopsided grin.

"Not exactly." She shrugs. "Why? Do you want me to?"

I tuck my hand under her chin and tilt her head back so our foreheads are pressed together. She smells of soap and the chasm and something that is solely Tris. There is years worth of familiarity in her scent, her closeness, even though we have only spent a few moments alone pressed together like this. Her breathing is steady, like the rhythmic pulse of the ocean, vast and unconquerable.

And mine.

"Yes," I say finally. I dwell on this moment for a few seconds and then reluctantly let it slip away. "You think we convinced him you're just a silly girl?"

"I hope so," she says. "Sometimes it helps to be small. I'm not sure I convinced the Erudite, though."

The mention of Erudite sparks a distant memory. _War plans, Abnegation, Dauntless puppets._ "There's something I need to tell you." I say grimly.

"What is it?"

"Not now." I glance around once to make sure we're clear of eavesdroppers before saying quietly, "meet me back here at eleven thirty. Don't tell anyone where you're going."

She nods once to acknowledge my words, and I look at her one last time before walking through the door that I came from thinking how twice in one day, we have walked away from each other wordlessly. The only difference is I'm not the one standing alone this time.

X X X

I shrink into my jacket as I step outside into the cool night air. My breath leaves me in white, curling wisps that rise momentarily before dissipating like ash scattered in the wind. In the distance, the lights of the city flicker out one by one to signal bedtime – all except the ones of the Erudite compound, which remain bright and unwavering in the thick, blanketing night.

When Tris joins me, I grapple for her hand in the dark and lead her silently toward the train tracks just as the thundering chugs of the approaching train rounds the bend. I lift myself into one of the empty cars and pull Tris in with me effortlessly as if she were as weightless as a feather.

"What is it you need to tell me?" she shouts over the whistling wind.

"Not yet," I say. The moments that we can truly call our own are so few and fleeting that I shove every thought I have to the back of my mind to focus on the only person that matters right now: Tris.

I slid to the floor, pulling Tris down with me so we're seated on the cold metal face to face. The pale moonlight casts an iridescent glow on her features, her eyes startling pools of melted silver that reflect my flushed expression like little round mirrors. The wind takes hold of her hair and twirls the strands around her face in a glowing, golden frame. Part of me wants to remain motionless all night without disturbing the perfect image before me and just simply _observe_, but another part of me, the dominant part, acts on the desire to do more than just look. I pull her into me and press my lips to hers, softly at first, and then with an intensity that increases with the diminishing distance between ourselves.

The train lurches and I feel Tris lose her balance briefly. Her hands come down on my hip, to steady herself perhaps, but they remain there even after she has regained her balance. At first, I feel the smallest sliver of discomfort wedging into my nerves; I have never been touched _there_, and certainly not by someone who naturally heightens my nerves. But then Tris swings a leg over so she's straddling me, and naturally, all traces of discomfort dissolve and is replaced with a boiling excitement that threatens to overturn my blood. As our lips meet, my fingers explore her body – her shoulders, her spine, the small of her back. When I stumble upon the cold metal zipper of her jacket, my fingers give a gentle tug that loosens the fabric cage enough to expose the three splashes of ink on Tris's collarbone.

"Birds," I gently run my hand across her tattoos. "Are they crows? I keep forgetting to ask."

"Ravens. One for each member of my family," she says. "You like them?"

Her answer isn't sultry, like it would be had it been any other girl. The smile she gives me is so genuine and real that I am left grappling for words that do not come. Instead, I show her my answer by touching my lips to her collarbones three times – one for each of the three ravens.

As the train lurches on, I feel a shift in my surroundings. The brisk air is infused with something instinctively industrial, and the brightness has been kicked up a couple of notches despite the utter blackness that envelopes the rest of the city. "I hate to say this," I say, "but we have to get up now."

I guide her to the door of the train car and point to the cluster of illuminated buildings that is the Erudite headquarters. "Apparently the city ordinances don't mean anything to them, because their lights will be on all night." I say.

"No one else has noticed?" she frowns.

"I'm sure they have, but they haven't done anything to stop it. It may be because they don't want to cause a problem over something so small." I shrug silently. "But it made me wonder what the Erudite are doing that requires night light."

I peel my eyes away from the city and turn to face Tris. "Two things you should know about me. The first is that I am deeply suspicious of people in general. It is my nature to expect the worst of them. And the second is that I am unexpectedly good with computers. A few weeks ago, before training started, I was at work and I found a way into the Dauntless secure files. Apparently we are not as skilled as the Erudite are at security, and what I discovered was what looked like war plans. Thinly veiled commands, supply lists, maps. Things like that. And those files were sent by Erudite."

"War?" she says apprehensively. Little creases appear between her eyebrows the way they always do when she appears to be thinking. "War on Abnegation?"

I take her hand in mine as a silent offer of comfort and strength. "The faction that controls the government. Yes." I say. It is much more different to think these theories than to actually say them out loud. To share them is to confirm the inevitable that I so didn't want to believe. A leaden feeling fills the pits of my stomach.

"All those reports are supposed to stir up dissension against Abnegation," I continue. "Evidently the Erudite now want to speed up the process. I have no idea what to do about it…or what could even be done."

"But why would Erudite team up with Dauntless?" she says. I don't have a chance to answer her question before I she turns to me, wide-eyed and perturbed. "They're going to use us."

"I wonder," I say, "how they plan to get us to fight."

_How do you make puppets out of people who are capable of slitting the strings?_

"I don't know," she says, and those are the last word we say of the impending issue that hangs over our heads like a heavy, gray raincloud.

I wonder when the rain will come.

* * *

><p><strong>I am terribly sorry if this chapter seems a little dull ): It's really late and I can barely keep my eyes open so I apologize for not editing to the fullest extent. <strong>

**Like always, comments, reviews and constructive criticism are most definitely welcome! (It's pretty nifty that they've added that box down there vv)**

**Thank you again for taking the time out of your day to read this!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Oh my dear god, I am so sorry for taking so long to update! I feel like I should bake a dozen batches of cookies and personally deliver them to everyone who has been waiting (very patiently, I might add) for me to update! I solemnly swear that I will never take this long to update again. I didn't really know how to handle this chapter so that's why it took me so long to write it. It's quite different from previous chapters so I hope you guys don't mind the change. I'm going to stop rambling now so you can get to the actual story.**

* * *

><p><em>I turn my back to the burning coals on which my blood has just spilt and walk toward the group of Dauntless initiates, earning a couple of curious looks from the Dauntless-borns. Behind me, my father's steely glare threatens to burn holes into the back of my head. Cries of outrage surface from the mass of gray bodies – the Abnegation, my faction. No – not my faction anymore. Certainly no one could have predicted this, not even my own father. The son of Marcus Eaton, a traitor to his own faction. That'll give them something to talk about.<em>

_As I take a stand behind the rest of the Dauntless initiates, I lock eyes with my father, who stands motionless as a stone on the podium, for a brief second. Although his expression remains composed, as it always does in public, his eyes burn with hatred and anger. Unconsciously, I shrink into my gray clothes, which stand out more than ever amongst this sea of black. My gaze drops to the ground hastily, and it stays there for the remainder of the Choosing Ceremony._

_The Dauntless exit first, a stream of black flowing out the doors, dotted here and there with the colourful clothing of the transfer initiates. As we head toward the stairs, a boy with hair as bright as the Dauntless flames bumps into me, nearly knocking me over the stairs. It certainly won't do any good if I injure myself before I even make it out of the building. I put on an irritated face and turn around to scowl at him, but my aggravation fades as soon as I see the forlorn expression on his face._

"_Sorry, I wasn't watching my step," he mumbles while smoothing out his blue t-shirt. _

"_Don't worry about it," I say._

"_I'm James," he holds out his hand. "You are…"_

_I eye his hand hesitantly. Abnegations greet each other by bowing their heads, so naturally, I am not accustom to shaking hands. "Tobias," I say. "Tobias E – "_

"_Eaton," he finishes for me. "Marcus Eaton's son. I wasn't sure if…" He glances around as if he's looking for someone, but his eyes settle on me again and his mouth perks up in an amiable smile. "Well, you're the only Abnegation transfer here, so that was a stupid question."_

_Before I have a chance to respond, the Dauntless explode in an array of shouts and cheers, drowning out anything I would have said. I exchange a bewildered look with James and follow the crowd out of the building as they rush outside and pour onto the streets, their feet pounding out an uneven rhythm that jolts my heartbeats._

_The mass of black clothed bodies come to a stop beside the train tracks and I huddle in a tightly-knit cluster with the rest of the transfers feeling elated, nervous, and anxious all at the same time._

It's how I feel now. I toss and turn, twisting in my bed until my blanket is coiled around me like a snake. Through the gray haze of the room, I can just make out the glowing numbers blinking lazily on my alarm clock. It's only been two hours since Tris and I got back to the compound, but it feels much longer than that. Does time always pass slower when our mind is troubled?

My emotions are wrestling through a restless game of tug-o-war. I bring my shirt to my nose and breathe in – the scent of Tris has weaved itself into the fabric, and every memory of her brings fresh waves of euphoria. However, the good moments don't last long. My mind inevitably wonders to the conversation we had on the train, to the rumblings of war, and uneasiness unavoidably clouds my mind, forcing every other emotion to tumble out of me like water droplets tumbling over the chasm.

At some point during the night, I fall asleep only to be plagued with dreams of Tris being held at gunpoint. An agonizing voice stutters disheartening words into my ear, but the slurred speech cuts off sharply as soon as I open my eyes, as if all sound has been sucked away by a vacuum leaving nothing but hollow silence. Only then do I realize the voice I've been hearing is my own. Twice more, I wake up drenched in cold sweat, my heart hammering madly in my chest like an animal fighting to break out of its encasement before falling back into a fitful sleep.

X X X

_As the train rounds the bend, I look to the Dauntless-born initiates for guidance. Beside me, the transfer initiates exchange nervously glances. I guess nobody expected initiation to start as soon as we exited the building._

_The Dauntless, clad in black, fitted clothing, all snap their heads up at the same time to the sound of the train whistle. I witness, in that moment, the quality that sets them apart from members of every other faction. Every motion they make reverberates with astounding confidence, as if nothing in the world can strike them down. Their actions have found a way to balance precariously on the edge between fearlessness and idiocy, and never in my sixteen years of life have I ever stood witness to an occasion in which their stunts tumbled over the edge to carelessness. Their eyes carry a sharp, audacious glint that forces you to look away when you catch their eye, as if you have been caught looking at something you shouldn't be looking at. I suppose this is why I am drawn to their faction; they all seem to be teeming with energy and life._

_When the train speeds past, they lift themselves effortlessly into the open cars as if they weigh no more than a feather. I try to mimic their smooth movements, letting my feet carry me forward, hooking my hand around a cold metal handle and heaving myself into the car. I, by no means, accomplish this with the flowing gracefulness as the Dauntless-born, but I do fare much better than the rest of the transfers. The muffled thud of bodies crashing clumsily fill the train coupled with stifled groans of those who have hit the floor of the car with too much force after hurtling themselves into the train. _

_In a few moments, the train will take us past the Dauntless compound. In a few moments my new life will begin. _

_A new faction, a new place, new friends, a new me._

_The apprehension I felt earlier has vaporized like morning mist clearing as the sun climbs higher in the sky. My hands tremble with increasing excitement as I watch, from the corner of my eye, the Dauntless rising one by one, preparing to jump off the train and head back to their compound – their home._

My hands tremble, even now, but more from nervousness than excitement. They tremble as I splash water on my face, they tremble as I pull on clean clothes, and they tremble as I reach for the doorknob.

Today is fear landscape day; the last day of initiation. Although I will not be the one to stand before the panel of judges, I fear it all the same. I don't even know why. I suppose the lingering memory of my own initiation is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life, for better or for worse.

The Dauntless compound is a sea of black motion. The initiation ceremony is a celebration that the Dauntless commemorate spectacularly by forgoing their work for the day and drinking from morning all the way up to the actual ceremony, which takes place during dinner. The Pit, chaotic in nature, has plunged knee deep into insanity by the time I manage to shuffle down the stairs and squeeze my way into the dining hall. Zeke stands by the wall, casually swatting Uriah's hand away while carrying on a light-hearted conversation with Lynn. I swipe a muffin off of one of the tables and shoulder my way through the crowd.

" – didn't even rank first, or second for that matter," Uriah says, raising an eyebrow at Zeke.

"Keep up the gloating and you'll find yourself plummeting to number ten by the end of tonight," Zeke shoves him in the shoulder. He turns to me and says, "Lauren's looking for you."

"Well, breakfast is calling my name," I motion toward my muffin. "Lauren, however, is not."

As if the mention of her name sends out telepathic signals, Lauren appears in the crowd on cue, shoving people this way and that, her dark wavy hair escaping from its hair tie.

"On second thought…"

"Come on," she grabs my arm, steering me away from the group. "Max will be mad if we're late, and angry Max equals a miserable day. For me, at least."

She halts unexpectedly, jerking me to a stop and almost making me drop my muffin before turning to Lynn with a frown on her face. "Where's Marlene?"

"Sleeping like a baby," Lynn says. "You know she's impossible to rouse in the morning."

"Okay, anyways," Lauren waves her hand around as if she's swatting away an invisible fly. "You have thirty minutes before fear landscapes begin so don't be late." She takes half a step forward before turning around again and adding, "Oh, and _please_ don't forget to wake Marlene."

Together, we fight our way through the already intoxicated crowd, which promises to get more and more boisterous as the day goes on. I let my feet guide me up the stairs that lead to the fear landscape, the same stairs that used to frighten me when I first got here because of its lack of railings. Retracing these steps today makes me feel like I'm sixteen years old again, following Amar to the glass building above.

_The rocky path before me extends so far up I'm certain the end of it is buried high in the clouds. _The stairway to Heaven_, I muse, though I always thought it would be more glamorous in appearance. Amar motions for us to follow him as he starts the slow ascend. I swallow nervously; my throat feels like sandpaper. Maybe Dauntless isn't the right place for me after all, but how was I supposed to know my new home would be built like a rickety tower made from crumbling stone? They ought to let us tour each faction before the Choosing Ceremony._

"_Fear will only succeed if you allow it to control you," Amar says quietly in my ear, catching me off guard and making me twitch in surprise. He had slowed down his pace to fall into step with me, and I had been too concentrated on keeping my eyes trained on the path in front of me to notice. _

"_Pardon me?" I say._

"_You're breathing as if you've just run marathon," he laughs light-heartedly. "I'm guessing heights is not your thing, Stiff."_

_I give a slight shake of my head. I wonder if all Dauntless are capable of reading people like this – picking out people's weaknesses just from observation. I suppose their lifestyle requires this of them; a lifestyle of soldiers. It is, in its own way, a form of self defence. "No," I mutter. "It's not my thing."_

"_Fear will only succeed if you allow it to control you," he repeats. "If you want to thrive in this faction, don't let your fear of heights control you."_

_Amar said we would be going through our fear landscapes, but he never did elaborate on what exactly a fear landscape is. We climb higher and higher, all the way up to the glass building that protrudes from the top of the compound. To a passerby, the structure would probably look like any other typical office building that you would find in the city. Never in their wildest dreams would they believe the gaping, cavernous space dug underground right beneath the glass houses an entire faction._

_Amar leads us up a flight of metal stairs that take us through a hole in the glass ceiling, which is now a glass floor. I thought the journey upward on the rocky ledge had been bad enough, but this is a thousand times worse. Walking on glass feels a lot of walking on air. The black mouth of the Pit extends far below me into the distance. I'm so high up that the people milling about on the floor of the Pit look like miniature toys. As irrational as it may sound, it feels like the glass floor under my feet is going to disappear any second, and I'd be sent tumbling down into the stone belly of the Dauntless compound, crashing to a great bloody death on the rocks below. _

"_Hey," a familiar voice says. "Are you okay? You look kind of green."_

"_Huh, uh," I look up to see James with a genuine look of concern on his face. "I'm fine. It's probably just a trick of the light."_

"_Okay, that's good. I heard Dauntless initiation is kind of brutal, so it probably wouldn't be good if you got sick before it even began," he says. "I figure the best way to get through this is to stick together, you know? Mutual support and all that stuff."_

_I smile gently and nod, deciding all the while that if I am going to make friends here, James would be a good person to start with._

_Groups of Dauntless are dispersed around the room, socializing with one another in clusters. When they notice Amar leading the lot of us through, almost every one of them either calls out a greeting or pats him on the shoulder. He must be well liked amongst the Dauntless, and I can certainly see why. He walks with a sort of confidence that demands your immediate attention, but he's not cocky at all in the way that he carries himself. It's hard to dislike someone who radiates as much charisma as he does, and I'm sure everyone in the room feels the same way. Hidden in the corner, a couple presses against each other, the boy's hands gently resting on the girl's hips. Every few seconds, they would steal a kiss from each other, and I find myself fighting to repress the urge to scowl at such indecent conduct. _But this is Dauntless_, I think. _Not Abnegation._ Two different factions, two different sets of rules. Public displays of affection might be frowned upon in Abnegation, but it certainly isn't here. I guess it's something I will get used to over time._

_We come to a stop outside a big empty room with worn down walls that are covered with curling, colourful graffiti. _

"_This," Amar gestures toward the room. "Is a kind of simulation, not unlike the ones you experienced during your aptitude test, called the fear landscape, and it is where your initiation will begin. This simulation will teach you to face your fears, literally. The fear landscape will pick out your worst fears and present them to you in a series of virtual obstacles. To move from one obstacle to the next, you must either calm your heartbeat down to a normal, steady rate, or find a way to face the fear."_

_Our worst fears. I wonder if I will see my father in there. It would be awfully ironic if I do, having left Abnegation mere hours ago only to come face to face with him again just moments after entering the Dauntless compound._

"_Your objective is to go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible," Amar continues. "Any questions?"_

_Everyone in the crowd shakes their head, a unanimous no._

"_Excellent," he claps his hands together. "Let's begin."_

_People are plucked at random from our little crowd of transfers. The first person to go is a girl with short brown hair from Candor who breaks down in the midst of the simulation and has to be lead out of the room for fresh air. We can watch everyone from the screens lined up on the wall, but because we're not hooked up to the computers, all we see are their reactions to their fears, not the simulation itself. To be honest, it is quite boring to watch. James and I invent a game to entertain ourselves while waiting for our turn – guess the fear based on the person's actions. _

"_Drowning. It's obviously drowning," James says. "Look at the way his arms are flailing."_

"_Oh, I don't know," I say. "Maybe he's swatting away a huge swarm of bees."_

"_That would be terrifying," James says. "I hope I don't have to go through that."_

_The next person to go is an Erudite boy with dark, stringy hair parted to the side. "That's Eric," James says. "I lived down the street from him, but we've never really been friends. Kind of surprised me when he transferred. I always thought he would stay put in Erudite."_

"_Looks like we'll be spending a lot of time with him," I say, and even though I don't know Eric, I am dreading having to spend the next few weeks training with him. Something about him – something I can't quite put my fingers on – seems…off. "Plenty of chances for you two to salvage the friendship that never was." I tease._

"_Shut it," James says, elbowing me in the ribs._

_Oh the screens, Eric stands, trembling and unmoving, his eyes wild with burning fear. His face contorts as he lets out an animal-like scream. The sound chills me to the very bone. Never once in all of the fifteen minutes that he spends in the fear landscape does he move from the spot where he first stood before the simulation began. Time after time, he would force his heart rate to go down to a steady rhythm, even though you can see terror clearly splashed across his face. I didn't know it was possible to do that – to cheat your body, tell it to do one thing despite feeling the exact opposite. It must take a lot of will power to accomplish such a task. I had been right after all. There is something off about him. I look to the control room where Amar stands with several Dauntless leaders who are all hooked up to computers. His expression is wary, as if he is tending to an injured animal that might suddenly spring up and bite him. I am willing to bet that I am not the only person who will be watchful of Eric from now on._

I'm standing in the exact same spot that Amar had stood two years ago.

The Dauntless-borns go before the transfers. Because I am not plugged in to the simulation, the process is as boring to me as it had been during my initiation. The transfers start to trickle in as Marlene wraps up her simulation. As they do, I find myself measuring time by the number of people who will go before it's Tris's turn. Four more Dauntless-borns and five transfers. Nine altogether, seemingly an eternity.

I step out of the control room briefly to relay a few instructions. "Transfers, the order in which you go through the final test was taken from your rankings as they now stand," I announce. "So Drew will go first, and Tris will go last."

The jittery feeling in the air drapes over the initiates like a big blanket. Everyone seems twitchier than usual and more alert. Even Uriah, who, much like Zeke, is usually boisterous and confident, jolts slightly when he is pricked with the needle that injects simulation serum. Five more people to go.

When I am not looking at the screen, I am watching Tris from the corner of my eye. When Eric injects simulation serum into Drew's neck, I catch her eye for a brief second, and that brief second is all it takes to reassure me that she will do fine. She is calm, or she looks calm. Her eyes are clear and alert, unlike Molly, whose eyes are glazed over as if she is trying to lose sight of something that is not entirely there. _That's good_, I tell myself. It's good that she is attentive and prepared. She needs to do well. We both need her to do well.

The lights in the fear landscape room come on; Drew is done. Four more people.

Lights on, three more people.

Two more.

One more.

The lights lift one last time.

Tris marches to the entrance of the fear landscape room where Eric is waiting, twirling a syringe between his fingers. I wonder if she is as nervous as I had been.

_Shaking. I am shaking._

_The needle pierces my neck, but my mind is too preoccupied to register pain. I walk to the center of the room, slowly, deliberately, as if my feet are slugging through syrup, and memorize the room exactly as it is even though it is only a place built to bridge the gap between reality and the simulation. _

The difference, I notice, between Tris and I is the air of confidence that she carries with her as she enters the room. The lights dim, and the simulation begins.

_The ground drops away beneath me as if I'm riding in a glass elevator up to the sky. Wind howls in my ears, blocking out the sound of my laboured breathing. I must be hundreds of feet off the ground; I can see the entire city stretched out before me. The clean cut angles of the Erudite headquarters, the gray expanse that makes up the Abnegation sector, the concrete tower that is the Candor headquarter, and even dots of green trees that belong to the Amity farms. Looking down at the crumbling streets nearly makes me vomit, so I close my eyes for a few seconds and try to control my breathing. When I open them again, I survey my surroundings with exasperation; there is no way to get down. I am trapped on this rickety building unless I muster the courage to jump._

Looking at Tris on the screen, she shows none of the uncertainty and panic that was once plastered on my face. Each move she makes is calculated, as if this is a game that has gotten too easy after years of experience.

I try to guess her fears from her reactions. Some, I can identify easily because I have seen her reactions to them during stage two. Others, I am not so sure of, although I am rather curious as to what they are. I wonder if she will ever let me into her fear landscape.

I wonder if James played this guessing game while watching me on the screens. I wonder if he guessed any of my fears correctly. I wonder if he could guess my last fear.

_I recognize the man before he even reveals face, before he so much as utters a breath. A creeping chill seeps into the room, and I can't tell if it is merely an extension of my imagination or if the temperature in the room really has dropped due to an unknown reason. _

_The gray clothed man steps out into the light._

_My father._

_A brown belt is wrapped around his hands. The leather is worn from age, but leather is leather, and it hurts all the same when the belt makes contact with my skin._

"_This is for your own good," he says coldly, and to my utter disbelief, a dozen replicas of him materialize around the room and trap me in a circle, all echoing the same phrase. They step forward at the same time, pressing into the circle, moving closer to me. I can't run. I can't breathe. The original Marcus draws back his arm and snaps the belt in my direction. I barely have time to cover my face before the leather makes contact with my shoulder, sending a sharp, searing pain through my flesh that makes my eyes water. The pain feels so fresh and so real that for a moment, I almost believe I am back in my house, cowering in the corner as my father draws his arm back again and again, bringing the belt down each time with a snap as it hits my arm, my back, my face._

This isn't real_, I tell myself. _This is a simulation. You are now a Dauntless, and Dauntless do not cower.

_The next time the belt whips toward me, I make a frantic grab for it before it makes contact with my skin. My father glowers at me as we engage in a fierce game of tug-o-war. I grit my teeth and pull as hard as I can, and my father fumbles forward as he loses his footing. _

"_This," I force through gritted teeth. "Is for your own good."_

_I draw my arm back and swing as fast as I can, focusing all of my energy into the swift movement of my arm as if all of my fear and hatred will snap out with the fluid motion of the belt as it sails through the air._

_The belt never makes it to its target. The Marcuses around the room disappear the same time the belt vanishes from my hand. Before I can register what is happening, the simulation disappears and I am standing in the dank and hollow room that is the fear landscape._

The lights blink on slowly one by one, and again, the simulation is over before I can register what is happening. Tris sinks to the floor trembling, and I let out a sigh of relief even though I haven't noticed I've been holding my breath.

Stage three is over.

Initiation is over.

* * *

><p><strong>...Well? What did you think? I'm thinking about continuing this story (as in Four's initiation) because it's a lot easier to write seeing as I'm won't be confined to the dialogue that's already present in Divergent. Maybe. Maybe not. Also, Veronica mentions in 'Free Four' that fear landscapes were once the first thing initiates went through upon entering the compound, but does anyone have any theories as to why they did that? I thought about it for a long time and couldn't come up with any rational explanations because it just doesn't make sense.<strong>

**Also, I feel like I need to clear this up with everyone because I've read a couple of reviews where people don't agree with some of Four's actions or dialogue that I've written, and, really, it's not that it's something Four, the character, wouldn't do but rather something _your _version of Four wouldn't do. So this is how I see Four as a character, and my take on him revolves predominantly around this quote from 'Free Four': "The other factions call us brutish, as if we don't use our minds, but that is all I do here."  
>He is, and always will be, an Abnegation at heart. He thinks about how his actions and words impact not just himself, but also those around him. He is not impulsive and he does not pull dangerous stunts just for the hell of it. Everything he does - everything he says is calculated. Someone once said my portrayal of him isn't "tough" enough, but I don't see him as a particularly tough character. He is the prime example of brain over brawn, and it shows a lot through his decisions, namely his decision to work in the control room rather than becoming a Dauntless leader even though he has the skills and capability. As you may remember, a few chapters ago, I wrote an incredibly random filler involving oranges, and a few chapters later, I wrote a dream about him chasing Tris, who was wearing an orange dress. I really should have explained the meaning behind that. Here it is: orange, like red, is a dynamic colour, but orange offers a more thoughtful control while red is associated with fiery heat. So yeah, I am lame and I research colour meanings in my spare time. Aside from being an incredibly level-headed person, I also think he is a bit afraid of intimacy, but not in the same way as Tris. I feel like he puts up a lot of walls around himself because he is afraid of letting people in. The people in his life who should have loved him and cared for him did the exact opposite of that. His mother abandoned him to save her own skin, and his father drove him out of his own home using violence, and because of that, he is afraid of getting hurt again by someone he cares about. Until he meets Tris, of course.<br>**

**So there you have it, just a little bit of insight as to how I view this character that I have written nineteen chapters about.**

**It is really late, or really early depending on how you look at it (it's 5:00am) so I will bid you all goodnight.**

**I thank you all for reading all of my pointless dawdling, I really do. You have no idea how much it means to me to have people actually enjoy and look forward to my writing.**

**Like always, comment, review, leave constructive criticism...answer my question about the fear landscape situation...you know. **

**Until next time, have a good one guys.**


	20. Chapter 20

"I heard a rumor that you only had seven obstacles to face," I say. "Practically unheard of."

"You…" she says hesitantly."You weren't watching the simulation?"

She seems nervous even though we are out of the fear landscape, and I don't know whether or not I should be worried.

"Only on the screens. The Dauntless leaders are the only ones who see the whole thing," I explain. "They seemed impressed."

"Well, seven fears isn't as impressive as four," she says, "but it will suffice."

"I would be surprised if you weren't ranked first," I say confidently.

As we enter the glass room, we are met with a crowd of Dauntless who have gathered to watch the fear landscapes. Although the crowd is much thinner than it has been, I still have to maneuver my way carefully around the people, accidentally bumping a few shoulders here and there as I guide Tris through the sea of black.

Tris doesn't say anything until we reach the steps that descend to the Pit – the chatter in the glass room would have drowned her voice out any way – but I can tell by the troubled look on her face that something is on her mind.

"I have a question." She chews on her lip nervously. "How much did they tell you about my fear landscape?"

"Nothing, really. Why?"

"No reason."

I try to act nonchalant even though her elusive remarks are really starting to make me nervous. What is she hiding from me? Should I be worried?

"Do you have to go back to the dormitory?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual and steady. "Because if you want peace and quiet, you can stay with me until the banquet."

She hesitates for a moment, and I'm almost afraid that she is going to reject my offer. "What is it?" I ask.

Tris doesn't answer my question. Instead, with a renewed air of confidence, she says, "Let's go."

She takes my hand and pulls me down the stairs with a fierce determination. Although I'm not sure as to whether she is afraid I will change my mind or she will change hers.

X X X

I hold the door open and let Tris slip in ahead of me. My feet follow after her hesitantly, and even though I am standing in the room that has been my own for two years, Tris's presence makes the space seem alien and unnerving. I shut the door behind us and kick off my shoes, not completely sure of what I should do or say next. The last time she was here, she was unconscious half the time, which saved me from a lot of awkward conversation, but this time, she is awake and alert. "Want some water?" I offer.

"No thanks," she says hastily, holding out her hands like two feeble shields blocking the space between her body and mine. She is acting more jumpy than usual even though the thrill of initiation should have worn off by now. It doesn't take a fool to figure out that something is wrong.

"You okay?" I ask, carefully brushing a finger along her cheek, hoping her tension will melt away with my touch. My fingers slip into her hair, and when I lower my lips to hers, the kiss is soft and full of wanting, like the few kisses that we have shared in the past. My hands instinctively find her jacket, and my heart thumps out a sporadic rhythm as it slips off her shoulders with the barest of a touch. The moment doesn't last though because as soon as Tris's jacket drops to the floor with a muffled thump, I feel her hands on my chest shoving me away, her eyes wide and alert as if she couldn't believe what just happened.

Silence envelopes the room. It creeps and slithers into every corner or the walls until I can hear nothing except for the erratic pounding of my heart, which is now beating wildly and passionately for a completely different reason. "What? What's wrong?" I ask earnestly, but she shakes her head and doesn't offer any further explanation to her strange behaviour, which only sets me on edge even more because whatever happened, she doesn't trust me enough to confide in me.

"Don't tell me it's nothing." I say. The words come out harsh and cold even though I'm trying to keep my frustration in line. "Hey. Look at me."

Slowly, she raises her eyes to meet mine. Whatever expression I had been expecting from her, surprise wasn't one of them. And I wonder why, for some utterly absurd reason, she would feel surprised in this situation when she's the one who unexpectedly pushed me away.

"Sometimes I wonder," she says slowly, deliberately drawing out each word, "what's in it for you. This…whatever it is."

"What's in it for me," I repeat, as if saying it again will somehow force the words to change their meaning. "You're an idiot, Tris."

"I am _not _an idiot," she retorts. "Which is why I know that it's a little weird that, of all the girls you could have chosen, you chose me. So if you're just looking for…um, you know…_that_…"

"What? Sex?" I say, astounded at the fact that Tris would think my being in this relationship has any ulterior motives other than the simple fact that I honestly and truly like her. "You know, if that was all I wanted, you probably wouldn't be the first person I would go to." I say bitterly; however, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I recognize my poor choice of words and instantly regret saying them at all. Tris turns away quickly, but I still manage to catch the painful expression blossoming across her face. Somewhere deep within me, a stinging, unfathomable ache spreads through my bones. I guess that's what happens when you become so utterly devoted to someone – when they are hurt, you share their pain. You become more vulnerable, more sensitive. Your chance for happiness doubles, but so does your chance for sorrow. It is only fair, I suppose.

"I'm going to leave now," she mumbles after a few moments.

As she turns to leave, I reach out for her wrist and pull her back. "No, Tris." I plead. I refuse to lose hope so swiftly and completely. She shoves me away forcefully, so I grab her other wrist, not daring to let her out of my grip. I refuse to let any more people step out of my life. The Dauntless fight for what they believe in, for what they deserve – so I will fight for Tris.

"I'm sorry I said that," I say gently. "What I _meant _was that you aren't like that. Which I knew when I met you."

"You were an obstacle in my fear landscape. Did you know that?" Her confession nearly brings her to the point of tears, and I can't say I feel any less distressed.

"What?" I stutter out. I release her wrists immediately as if her skin is searing to the touch. A spectacular array of emotions flash through my mind: shock, disbelief, disappointment, exasperation. They twist and twirl together until there is nothing left but an indistinguishable gray mess. Whatever I had been expecting, it definitely wasn't that. It's as if I'm Alice, falling to the heart of the rabbit-hole, fingers frenetically writhing around the nothingness of air. Another heartbeat passes and time freezes, and I'm gazing at Tris through the tear in the grass from miles below. Tris with her porcelain skin and audacious attitude, who has been hot-fired and molded to withstand even the toughest pressure, who is seemingly fearless – but she is afraid of me.

What did I do wrong?

Where did I go wrong?

"You're _afraid _of me?" I say cautiously, afraid that the sound of my voice will nestle into an unseen crack in her body and shatter her.

"Not you," she says. "Being with you…with anyone. I've never been involved with someone before, and…you're older, and I don't know what your expectations are, and – "

"Tris," I interject. "I don't know what delusion you're operating under, but this is all new to me, too."

"Delusion? You mean you haven't…" she stammers while I shuffle my feet awkwardly. "Oh. _Oh_. I just assumed…Um. You know."

As she slowly stutters her way to an understanding, I feel my cheeks growing hotter and hotter, hoping with a fierce sincerity that she wouldn't notice. "Well, you assumed wrong." I turn away for a moment to let the fire inside me to sputter out, and then I cup her face in my hands and look her earnestly in the eyes. "You can tell me anything, you know. I am kinder than I seemed in training. I promise."

The hint of a smile colours her face, and something inside me unravels like a frayed, worn sweater. I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath until I feel the relief of air leaving, collapsing my lungs and filling them up again.

I plant a kiss between her eyebrows, on the tip of her nose, and then, slowly and warily, on her mouth. The hesitation and guardedness I expected wasn't there at all. Instead, our lips meet, fiercely and passionately, locking us in an inescapable embrace. My hands slip past her neck, tracing her collarbones and coming to a rest on her shoulders. My fingers glide over a ridge, and I pull back to see a white bandage covering one of her shoulders.

"Are you hurt?" I ask.

"No. It's another tattoo," she explains. "It's healed, I just…wanted to keep it covered up."

"Can I see?"

She nods and slips her shirt over her shoulder. I peel back the bandage to reveal a black ring encircling two hands locked in a gentle grip – helping hands. It's the symbol of Abnegation. We're more alike than we even know. "I have the same one," I say with a laugh. "On my back."

"Really? Can I see it?"

I press the bandage back over her tattoo and pull her shirt over her shoulder. "Are you asking me to undress, Tris?" I tease.

A small nervous laugh escapes her, and I find it bizarre that the prospect of me undressing would make her nervous. After all, I am the one put under scrutinization, the one stuck in the harsh glow of the spotlight. "Only…partially." She says, almost to my dismay.

I nod hesitantly. If Tris allows me to look at her, then I should do the same. I unzip my sweater and toss it onto my chair. All the while, Tris stares at me with a burning intensity that makes me overtly self-conscious. I peel off the layers of my clothes – like a banana or an orange, as absurd as it is to compare myself to fruits. You have to peel away the layers before you find the heart of the matter, the core that is protected by the outer skin. As I pull my t-shirt over my head, I understand why that outer shell exists – to counteract the vulnerability that exists inside. Baring myself like this to Tris, I feel more exposed than ever. I realize, in this moment, how much it will hurt to be pricked and prodded, not just by objects but also words, or maybe a brief, poorly-hidden look of disgust. But Tris doesn't show that. Instead, she gazes at my body with a look that I can only describe to be wonderment, which makes me so uncomfortable that I have to look away.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I don't invite many people to look at me," I admit. "Any people, actually."

"I can't imagine why," she says softly. "I mean, look at you."

She walks around me in a slow circle, pausing when she is behind me to examine my ink spotted skin. From time to time, I'd catch a brief glimpse of my tattoos in my bathroom mirror – the Dauntless flames at the very top, Abnegation below it, followed by the symbols of the remaining factions. Even now, the swirling patterns of ink look foreign on my skin, like they're ill suited for my body. Most of the Dauntless tattoo themselves in visible places – arms, hands, legs – and they wear their ink with pride. As do I, but in a quieter manner. I wonder what Tris thinks of them.

"I think we've made a mistake," I explain quietly. "We've all started to put down the virtues of the other factions in the process of bolstering our own. I don't want to do that. I want to be brave, and selfless, _and _smart, _and _kind, _and _honest." I pause for a moment and clear my throat. "I continually struggle with kindness."

"No one's perfect," she says, her voice low and hushed. If it weren't for the already silent room, I'm not sure I would have heard her. "It doesn't work that way. One bad thing goes away, and another bad thing replaces it."

She gently brushes her fingers over my back before saying, "We have to warn them, you know. Soon." I don't have to ask to know she is talking about Abnegation.

"I know," I say. "We will."

I turn around to face her, wanting desperately to wrap her in my arms, but at the same time, I don't want to push her too far. "Is this scaring you, Tris?"

"No," she stammers. "Not really. I'm only…afraid of what I want."

"What do you want?" I ask. Only in her uneasy silence do I realize the answer. "Me?"

She nods slowly and hesitantly, as if she's scared of how I will react. Maybe she needs to stop seeing me as Four, the instructor, and think of me instead as Tobias, the boy. The boy who is every bit as confused and elated and terrified as she is. Maybe she needs to realize that underneath my clothes lies a human being who is breakable, who is capable of feeling pain and joy and sorrow. I need to show her that she doesn't need to be scared of me, that I am vulnerable in every way that she is. I take her hands and guide her palms to my stomach, slowly moving them over my abdomen, my chest, and coming to a stop at my neck where I hold her palms again my skin, savouring the chill of her skin against the heat that is threatening to burn me alive.

"Someday," I say. "If you still want me, we can…" I pause and clear my throat, not sure how I would go about completing the sentence. "We can…"

Tris smiles and wraps her arms around myself. I let my words hang in the air and snake my arms around her like it's the most natural thing in the world. The feel of her body against my bare skin – it doesn't feel strange and foreign. She feels like an extension of my body, like a missing piece that has been lost for many years before finally finding its way back to me.

"Are you afraid of me, too, Tobias?" she teases.

"Terrified," I say with a smile.

She plants a soft kiss on the hollow beneath my throat. "Maybe you won't be in my fear landscape anymore," she says quietly, her voice renewed with a hopeful vigour.

I lower my head and kiss her slowly. "Then everyone can call you Six."

"Four and Six," she muses.

We kiss again, and instead of the heat and passionate desire that is usually present, I feel a gentle familiarity, like coming home after a long journey. There is an air of reassurance that now exists between us, and it puts me at ease knowing she will not disappear anytime soon. Maybe when all of this chaos is over, I can find a way to carve a home here – a real home. With Tris.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh yay, you made it through the chapter! I hope you all enjoyed this one.<strong>

**So yeah, leave me a review, you know, some constructive criticism, or even a shout out. Whatever you feel like.**

**Oh, and, thank you to everyone who wrote down their theories about fear landscapes! Now I have some clue as to how to go about Four's initiation if I ever decide to continue that story.**

**I will hurry along and write the next chapter ASAP. Enjoy the rest of your lazy summer days (I know I will).**


	21. Chapter 21

The Dauntless gathered in the Pit are rowdy and overly boisterous. Their hoots and hollers can be heard all the way down the hall where Tris and I stand. "You haven't really met the Dauntless until you sit through a celebration with us." I say.

"Oh, I bet," she says lightheartedly, although I detect the hint of a quiver in her voice.

"It'll be fine. You'll be fine," I assure.

She smiles a quick, nervous smile – a fleeting smile. It flashes its presence on her features for a moment, lingering not a second too long before disappearing. If you weren't looking for it, you would have missed it completely.

"Come on," I plant a kiss on the top of her head; her hair smells like synthetic lilac. "In you go."

X X X

The shrill feedback from the microphone cuts through the endless chatter, drowning out Zeke mid-sentence as he pauses momentarily before diving into his story again – grand, animated arm gestures and all.

Eric climbs atop one of the tables and taps the microphone, patiently waiting for the crowd to settle down, which takes several minutes considering some people are so intoxicated that they don't notice the tapping until someone nudges them.

"We aren't big on speeches here. Eloquence is for Erudite," he says, which is ironic because Erudite was his former faction. "So I'm going to keep this short. It's a new year, and we have a new pack of initiates. And a slightly smaller pack of new members. We offer them our congratulations."

At this, the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer. Hundreds of fists pound the tabletops. I join in, too. The room vibrates with the excitement radiating off of every single body in the room. This is one of the reasons I love this faction – the energy and chaos that lives inside every single one of us feeds into the walls, making the entire room come to life.

"We believe in bravery. We believe in taking action. We believe in freedom from fear and in acquiring the skills to force the bad out of our world so that the good can prosper and thrive. If you also believe in those things, we welcome you." Eric almost has to shout the last few words because the crowd has begun to holler and pound their fists again. I can't imagine what my father, or any member of Abnegation would say if they witnessed our boisterous behaviour.

"Tomorrow, in their first act as members, our top ten initiates will choose their professions, in the order of how they are ranked," Eric says. "The rankings, I know, are what everyone is really waiting for. They are determined by a combination of three scores—the first, from the combat stage of training; the second, from the simulation stage; and the third, from the final examination, the fear landscape. The rankings will appear on the screen behind me."

On cue, the screen behind Eric lights up. Two years ago, my name and picture filled the spot beside the number one. This year, Tris's name has taken over that spot. A surge of pride overtakes me; I jump out of my seat and look for Tris in the crowd.

"I'm gonna…" I gesture toward the group of initiates who are clumped together in a huddle, shouting congratulations to each other and exchanging cheerful hugs.

Shauna waves me away with her hand, and I take off toward Tris, pushing and shoving my way through the sea of bodies that slow me down like molasses. I tap her on her shoulder when I finally reach her. "You think giving you a hug would give away too much?" I say.

"You know," she says. "I really don't care."

Her rises up on her tip toes and presses her lips to mine. My mind is whirling, whirling, whirling. Despite the fact that we are under scrutiny by everyone around us, I can't bring myself to pull away. I'm drawn to her like the opposites of a magnet. I trace my fingers across her collarbones, up her neck, along her jaw line, and cup her face in my hands, pulling her even closer to me. It feels like we can never be close enough. Just then, she pulls away unexpectedly with a stunned expression.

"Tris?" I say, earnestly hoping that I haven't pushed her past her comfort zone.

"Not now," she says. "Later, okay?"

I nod before slipping quietly back into the crowd, hoping whatever she has to tell me won't be terrible news.

X X X

Late that night, after the excitement of the banquet has died down, I sneak out of my room to find Tris. The silvery light of the moon penetrates through the glass ceiling and pools onto the floor of the Pit leaving an iridescent puddle that almost seems to ripple in the dark. For a brief moment, I become so absorbed by the strange draw of the light that I linger at the edge of dark and light, basking in the magnetic pull of the moonlight, toying with the idea that plunging into the pool of light will take me to a new place, a new time.

Voices, low and rumbling, cut through the silence, snapping me out of my reverie. I quickly duck into a nearby hallway and melt into the shadows, hoping the darkness will conceal me adequately. Max and Eric stroll into view half a breath later, their eyes glinting rapaciously in the dark.

"How long?" Eric says. His voice, although quiet, reverberates in the cavernous space of the Pit.

"Any minute now," Max says. "You should get going; Cass is waiting at the tracks."

Eric leaves without another word, and I watch his straggly figure stalk up the stairs that lead to the glass ceiling. As the sound of Eric's footsteps fade, a ghostly hush falls onto the Pit and I retreat even farther into the shadows. Max stands in the center of the room, as still as a statue, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. No more than five minutes later, the eerie silence is broken by the distant clacking of hundreds of feet marching on the stone floor. I linger just long enough to see a slow smile – slow as molasses – stretch across Max's face before quietly slipping into a dark hallway deserted from years of disuse.

And then I wait.

X X X

A wave of people flood the hallway. I can tell something is wrong before I even lay eyes on them; their rhythmic footsteps are too rehearsed, too controlled. Soon after, the hallway, which had been empty no more than two minutes ago, swarms with Dauntless pressed shoulder to shoulder, droning and glass-eyed.

"What's going on?" I hiss, tugging on the arm of a passerby. He doesn't answer me, doesn't even look at me.

It's like they are awake but they're not conscious of their actions or surroundings, as if someone had hollowed out their brain and reprogrammed their wires to turn the entire faction into zombies. My fingers claw at an itch on my neck, and that's when I feel it – the injection site. I should have suspected it when Max first started injecting people with the serum. It's not for safety precautions – we have never cared much for safety precautions. Transmitters were injected into our bodies, not some inane tracking device. This is how Erudite is getting us to fight.

A head of chin-length brown hair bobs into view and I recognize her immediately. Shauna.

"Hey," I grapple for her arm, my fingernails digging into her flesh, leaving her skin embedded with puckering, falcate prints. "Shauna, hey – stop."

But like the rest of the Dauntless, she doesn't stop. Despair bubbles up inside me as I look on hopelessly at the bodies marching toward the Pit. It crosses my mind that I should run to the dormitories to warn Tris, but then I realize she probably came to the same conclusion a long time ago, during the ceremony. She just never had a chance to tell me.

This is a perfect strategy to weed out the Divergent, which means I need to blend in with the rest of the Dauntless sleepwalkers if I want to avoid detection. I smooth out my shirt, retie my shoelaces, and slip out of the shadows to march on with the rest of my faction.

It is a lot harder than it looks to mimic a bunch of people whose actions you can't fully anticipate. As I wait by the train tracks, I keep my eyes trained on the city lights that spill out in the distance, trying to ignore the weight of the gun that is tucked into my holster. The cars of the idle train fill up quickly, each piling with rows of Dauntless soldiers marching unwillingly into a war that has nothing to do with us. A boy a few years older than me offers me a hand, his movements stiff and robotic, and pulls me into a car that is half full. I turn around and offer my hand to the next person in line, who, whether you believe it or not, just so happens to be Tris. She climbs into the car a little awkwardly, her actions lacking the rigidity that accompanies every other person under the influence of the simulation serum.

She is awake.

I am thrilled, elated, ecstatic – but I don't dare show it on my face out of fear that someone will notice my momentary slip.

We line up shoulder to shoulder. Only when enough people have situated themselves in front of me do I dare to move my fingers. Carefully, with the barest of movement, I nuzzle her hand with mine, and as our fingers interlock, I swear I could almost hear a gentle click, like gears shifting into place.

The train speeds along the outskirts of the city, past the Amity orchards, the abandoned piles of rubble and several areas where the factionless dwell before coming to a stop before the rows of gray houses that I had grown so custom to when I was younger. Right before we jump off of the train, I turn my head ever so slightly to look at Tris. "Run," I urge.

"My family," she says.

That's right. Her parents are here and she needs to make sure they remain unharmed. Her concern for them almost makes me feel guilty at my lack of concern for my family. I don't know whether or not I should feel horrified at my genuine disregard of my father's safety.

The last time I walked these streets had been two years ago, and the streets had been lit by sunlight, not moonlight. I never knew I'd have the chance to set foot in this neighbourhood again, and I wish I'd never been granted this chance because I can't stand the thought of abandoning this place a second time. Being here, it brings back waves of nostalgia, which is inappropriate to an exponential degree because we are here to wage war on an innocent faction, not to recall childhood memories.

"This is insane," says an all too familiar voice. I know without looking that if I were to turn my head a little to the left, I would find Eric hovering uncomfortably close to Tris. I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from lashing out unexpectedly – from obliterating any remaining semblance of normality in my life by revealing my Divergence to the one person who would personally see to my demise. Even so, with so much at stake, I trace the outline of the gun gripped tightly in my hand, the metal warm and clammy from my unrelenting clutch, itching for me to bring upon the destruction that it so badly craves.

"They really can't see us? Or hear us?" a female voice, which I deduce to belong to Cass, asks.

"Oh, they can see and hear. They just aren't processing what they see and hear the same way," Eric says smugly, as if manipulating an entire faction to carry out ruthless slaughter is something to be proud of. "They receive commands from our computers in the transmitters we injected them with and carry them out seamlessly."

If I attack now, it would almost be too easy to overtake him; he would never expect it. But can I truly bring myself to look him in the eyes and shoot him?

I can't.

Just then, he turns his attention to me, as if my thoughts have alerted him of my presence.

"Now, this is a happy sight," he sneers, leaning uncomfortably close to my face. His exhales tickle my cheek, sends my heart into overdrive, and it takes everything in me to remain composed. "The legendary Four. No one's going to remember that I came in second now, are they? No one's going to ask me, 'What was it like to train with the guy who has only four fears?'"

Eric shifts his arm and presses the cold barrel of his gun against my temple. Inside my chest, my heart hammers a mile a minute, beating so loud that it's all I can hear. Instinct screams for me to bat his hand away, to protect myself, but I push all of those thoughts away and focus on the lock of pale blonde hair that swings in and out of my periphery. "Think anyone would notice if he accidentally got shot?" Eric says, putting an unnecessary amount of emphasis on the word _accidentally_, as if anyone watching would believe this constitutes as anything close an accidental slip of his finger.

"Go ahead," Cass says, sounding as bored as she looks. It amazes me that, with the chaos ensuing before our eyes, she is able to respond in such a mild manner as if she is oblivious to the bodies that scatter the streets like autumn leaves. "He's nothing now."

"Too bad you didn't just take Max up on his offer, Four. Well, too bad for you, anyway," Eric says so quietly that his voice is almost drowned out by the click of the bullet as it slides into the chamber.

I force a swallow past the lump in my throat, past the bruised, fickle beast that is my heart and down to the knot that is my stomach. _He wouldn't do it. _

_He wouldn't._

_He wouldn't._

But even as I think the words, the better part of me, the sensible, rational side reminds me that this is Eric, and he definitely would not hesitate to pull the trigger if given the chance. I brace myself for the chance to retaliate, and –

Tris whirls around before I even have time to register what is happening. She holds the cold metal lip of her gun unwaveringly against Eric's forehead. "Get your gun away from his head," she snaps.

Eric stiffens, losing whatever shreds of confidence he had the moment his façade of dominance over us faltered. Cass's nonchalant expression melts off her face, no doubt caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events. All the while, I try very hard to keep my eyes from darting to Tris because I'm quite certain that no one will be able to overlook any abnormal movements that are a sure indication of my Divergence.

"You won't shoot me," Eric scoffs.

"Interesting theory," Tris says, but even I know she is bluffing. It is ironic that in a war waged by the Erudite against the Abnegation, you would find the Dauntless pointing their guns at each other – Dauntless who just so happens to originate from Abnegation and Erudite. Even more satirical is the fact that it is Eric who initiated the act – the very person who reiterates to everyone the importance of faction before blood. In the end, even the promise of unity amongst our own faction cannot erase the bitter blood that runs through our cores. I suppose what the other factions say about us is true – that we really are brutish and unyielding, even when it comes to our own.

The resounding bang of a gunshot makes me jump ever so slightly. Eric lets out a bloodcurdling howl; looks like Tris wasn't bluffing after all. The moment his gun leaves my temple, I twist around and fire blindly in the direction that I desperately hope had been Cass's leg. Before I have a chance to see whether or not the bullet found its target, Tris tugs on my hand and away we run toward an alleyway that extends from the deserted street like a battered, weather-worn extremity.

Around me, the pounding of hasty footsteps reverberate off the concrete, drumming out an uneven rhythm on the cracked and broken street, so confusing that I can't tell the thumping of my own footsteps from my pursuers. A booming crack slices through the air, and for one befuddled moment, I mistake the sound for lightning. It is not until Tris crumples to the ground do I realize it wasn't lightning; it was a gunshot that has buried a bullet in Tris's shoulder. I drop to her side instantly, using my body as a shield to shelter her in case they decide to fire again.

Better me than her.

"Run!" she pleads.

I take one look at her – pale blonde hair a tangled mess, crimson dotting her cheeks and now the back of her shirt – and say quietly, confidently, "No." As I help her up, Dauntless soldiers surround us in an inescapable circle, pointing the mouths of their ugly metal guns at Tris and I.

I see red. It is a red redder than the blood that stains my finger tips – a red bolder than blood, richer than blood. It manifests within me at the sight of all those who had the nerve to call the Dauntless compound their home.

_Faction before blood_, they say.

How did a faction so pure – a faction that sought to eradicate cowardice, to protect those who are unwilling to defend themselves – sink to the state in which we find ourselves today?

I don't know where we went wrong.

I don't know anymore.

I don't know.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so so so sorry. I know I promised to update quickly but I got caught up with studying for an exam and my laptop decided to wipe out a chunk of my files, including this one, when I was doing updates. I was literally pulling out my hair. <strong>**One of these days, I'm going to say ASAP and actually mean it.**

**So, I will have the next chapter up ASAP, and I really do mean it this time because I have half of it written already. It was supposed to be merged with this chapter but I was taking way too long to update so I spliced it.**

**I hope you liked this stupid, stupid chapter that took me ages to write. Leave a comment or something because I really do love reading your feedback. **

**You can all expect an update some time this week (I promise)! **

**P.S. someone asked me about Free Four a while ago and I was going to post a link to the pdf but I can't find the website anymore ): I'll keep looking but in the mean time, if anyone has a link to it, feel free to post it in the comments cause that would be uber helpful!**


	22. Chapter 22

We are herded like sheep through the daunting grey doors of the Abnegation headquarters. The metal barrel of the Dauntless guard's gun dig into my back, reminding me that if I were to resist, a bullet would be embedded in my flesh. Tris leans heavily against me, weakened greatly by the wound in her shoulder. At the sight of rivers of crimson blood trickling down her back, my heart aches, for I am unable to lessen her pain. I despise this feeling of utter uselessness.

The guards press us through a door flanked by two Dauntless soldiers. Jeanine, leader of Erudite, sits behind a desk with a phone pressed to her ear. It angers me that she has simply allowed herself to march into the headquarters of another faction and intrude with a palpable air of ignorance to the unwelcome state of her presence. Even more so, the fact that she recognizes her unwanted presence and basks in the knowledge that nothing can be done about it because she is the puppeteer of an immensely dangerous army.

"Well, send some of them back on the train, then," she says while fingering the pair of glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose. "It needs to be well guarded, it's the most important part—I'm not talk—I have to go." She spares a hurried glance in our direction and hastily shuts her phone as if she doesn't want us to overhear the rest of her conversation.

"Divergent rebels," one of the guards relays.

"Yes, I can see that," Jeanine says impatiently. She makes a show of removing her glasses, folding them, and setting them on the desk, drawing out each movement as if she is dragging her arms through sand.

"You," she says, wriggling a boney finger at Tris. "I expected. All the trouble with your aptitude test result made me suspicious from the beginning. But you…"

She turns to me, pursing her lips and shaking her head as if she were scolding a misbehaving child.

"You, Tobias—or should I call you Four?—managed to elude me. Everything about you checked out: test results, initiation simulations, everything. But here you are nonetheless," her steel grey eyes burn into me, and frankly, her stare makes me quite uncomfortable, but I don't let it show. "Perhaps you could explain to me how that is?"

"You're the genius," I say. "Why don't you tell me?"

Her lips curl into a content smile; she hadn't expected me to answer the question. "My theory is that you really do belong in Abnegation. That your Divergence is weaker." She says as matter-of-factly, as if she has just provided the answer to a question of astronomical importance and expects to be rewarded for her intelligence.

"Your powers of deductive reasoning are stunning. Consider me awed." I scoff. "Now that your intelligence has been verified, you might want to get on with killing us." I sigh in defeat and close my eyes. Never in a million years would I have foreseen this ending. "You have a lot of Abnegation leaders to murder, after all."

My words have no effect on Jeanine; she just keeps on smiling. I wonder whether she really is human or if she is just a mechanic invention that the Erudite have created. Tris slumps against me, and I slide an arm around her for support.

"Don't be silly. There is no rush," she says with mock pleasantry and a seemingly harmless smile plastered on her face. It seems her features are rarely devoid of her twisted grin; it must be exhausting to keep up the friendly façade. "You are both here for an extremely important purpose. You see, it perplexed me that the Divergent were immune to the serum that I developed, so I have been working to remedy that. I thought I might have, with the last batch, but as you know, I was wrong. Luckily I have another batch to test."

"Why bother?" Tris says, speaking for the first time since we have been ushered into the building.

Jeanine turns to Tris with a smirk that reminds me so much of the way Eric has looked at her in the past that I tighten my arm around her waist to keep her from being swallowed by Jeanine's hungry eyes.

"I have had a question since I began the Dauntless project, and it is this." She steps around the desk, revealing a blue dress that clothes her from her shoulders to her knees. The colour looks out of place. If the walls had eyes, I'm sure they would be blinded by the brilliant cerulean hue after seeing and growing accustomed to the neutral grey of Abnegation attire. "Why are most of the Divergent weak-willed, God-fearing nobodies from Abnegation, of all factions?"

"Weak-willed," I scoff. "It requires a strong will to manipulate a simulation, last time I checked. Weak-willed is mind-controlling an army because it's too hard for you to train one yourself."

"I am not a fool," she says. "A faction of intellectuals is no army. We are tired of being dominated by a bunch of self-righteous idiots who reject wealth and advancement, but we couldn't do this on our own. And your Dauntless leaders were all too happy to oblige me if I guaranteed them a place in our new, improved government."

"Improved," I laugh. I wonder if in the midst of her ploy to take over the government she lost her reasoning and humanity somewhere in the planning process.

"Yes, improved," Jeanine says. "Improved, and working toward a world in which people will live in wealth, comfort, and prosperity."

"At whose expense?" Tris slurs. Her injury must be taking a dreadful toll on her body. "All that wealth…doesn't come from nowhere."

"Currently, the factionless are a drain on our resources," Jeanine states. "As is Abnegation. I am sure that once the remains of your old faction are absorbed into the Dauntless army, Candor will cooperate and we will finally be able to get on with things."

"Get on with things," I repeat indignantly.

The factionless and Abnegation – nearly a third of our population – eradicated for the needless prosperity of a populace that has enjoyed many spoils and has never truly known despair. A curtain of brilliant crimson trickles down behind my eyes like a vividly frightening vision of the deaths that will no doubt follow under Jeanine's command.

"Make no mistake." I shout, unable to suppress my emotions any longer. "You will be dead before the day is out, you—"

"Perhaps if you could control your temper," Jeanine interjects, "you would not be in this situation to begin with, Tobias."

"I'm in this situation because you put me here," I snap. "The second you orchestrated an attack against innocent people."

"Innocent people." Jeanine snorts. "I find that a little funny, coming from you. I would expect Marcus's son to understand that not all those people are innocent. Can you tell me honestly that you wouldn't be happy to discover that your father was killed in the attack?"

"No," I reluctantly admit through gritted teeth. "But at least his evil didn't involve the widespread manipulation of an entire faction and the systematic murder of every political leader we have."

Jeanine glares at me challengingly and I glower at her with a fierceness that hopefully conveys the anger that is rolling inside me. If I weren't the only thing that is keeping Tris from crumpling on the floor, I would have lunged at Jeanine long ago.

After a few tense seconds, Jeanine clears her throat and says, "What I was going to say is that soon, dozens of the Abnegation and their young children will be my responsibility to keep in order, and it does not bode well for me that a large number of them may be Divergent like yourselves, incapable of being controlled by the simulations."

She paces back and forth in front of us. Each time she nears me, I catch a whiff of the stinging scent of her perfume. I resist the urge to cover my nose.

"Therefore," she continues. "It was necessary that I develop a new form of simulation to which they are not immune. I have been forced to reassess my own assumptions. That is where you come in. You are correct to say that you are strong-willed. I cannot control your will. But there are a few things I can control."

She stops pacing and turns to us, folding her hands together neatly. Tris leans her head against my shoulder, and I welcome the gentle pressure.

"I can control what you see and hear," Jeanine says. "So I created a new serum that will adjust your surroundings to manipulate your will. Those who refuse to accept our leadership must be closely monitored."

She turns to me, grinning all the while, and says, "You will be the first test subject, Tobias. Beatrice, however…" she smiles at Tris the way one would smile if one were offering a child a toy. "You are too injured to be of much use to me, so your execution will occur at the conclusion of this meeting."

I hear my breathing stop without feeling it.

I am bursting with memories of the past few weeks: the shrill laugh of Tris, the first jumper, the way the moon reflected in her eyes on the ferris wheel, her lips brushing mine softly in the dark as we find each other by scent and touch. The memories fit together like shards of a stained glass window, but no matter how many times I rearrange the pieces, the image still looks unfinished. A picture, shattered. A story incomplete. I refuse to believe our tale ends tonight at the hands of an unrelenting woman.

"No," I say. My voice comes out rattled even though I'm trying to control the quivering muscles in my throat. "I would rather die."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice in the matter," Jeanine says.

My eyes cloud over as a spectrum of emotions bubble up inside me. Rage at Jeanine for treating us like mere puppets ready to be toyed with and disposed of at her will, grief for all of the Abnegation who have lost their lives meaninglessly at the hands of Dauntless soldier who aren't even aware of the massacre occurring at their hands, and pure anguish at the thought of losing Tris.

I take Tris's face in my hands and pour every unspoken word and every emotion that I can muster into one last kiss.

Now, I don't know why I am able to see the Milky Way on clear nights, or why when I stand at the top of the tallest skyscraper I feel so small, but I do know in that moment, clear as glass, that I shouldn't ever take for granted falling asleep next to the person that I care about most, hearing her breath come and go.

So I fight. I fight for her, if nothing else.

I lunge at Jeanine, whose face wears an expression of absolute shock as my hands close around her throat. Dauntless guards jump on me immediately, pushing and pulling until they are able to pry my hands away from Jeanine. They shove me carelessly onto the floor, pinning me to the gleaming tiles with their hands and knees.

So much for faction before blood.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tris being slammed into the wall by another Dauntless soldier. I want to scream out, to tell them to handle her gently because she is injured, but then I remember these are not the same Dauntless that I greet every day in the Pit. My heart clenches inside my chest; this entire faction is rotting from the inside out.

Jeanine walks towards me with a syringe in her hand. In one last attempt to escape, I elbow one of the guards in the face only to have the heel of his gun slammed into the side of my head. In the midst of my struggle, I am painfully aware of a sharp pinch on my neck.

I see a lock of blonde hair and two pale grey eyes staring back at me. Eyes as large as the moon. The lights overhead dim, or maybe it's just a trick of my eye; I'm not sure anymore. The dying light washes the walls and objects with graying echoes of colour, and the edges blur together until I can no longer distinguish one object from the next – except one. A lock of blonde hair, two pale grey eyes set in a face of porcelain skin; the pinnacle of life in a dying world.

I try to stay awake, to fight the simulation serum and avoid becoming another pawn in Jeanine's game, but it's like I'm sinking in quick sand – the more I resist, the faster the serum spreads.

In the end, all I have left to hold on to are a pair of iridescent eyes, clear as a summer night sky. Eyes as large as the moon.

And then nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, finally an update! I moved into my apartment a week ago and didn't have internet until today (I died).<strong>

**I'm probably going to wrap up the story with the next chapter. I hope you guys liked this chapter and I'm looking forward to writing the last one!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Before I get to the story, I'm just going to apologize for taking such a long time to update. You probably thought I abandoned the story, but I didn't! I vastly underestimated my course load this semester so I was quite occupied with school work for the last four months. I also had to undergo surgery so that took me out for a while. I wrote about 20% of this chapter throughout the term and the other 80% in the last two days so I'm really sorry if it doesn't flow nicely; my writing skills are a little rusty having written only essays and reports in the last four months. I'll stop rambling. I hope you like this chapter that I've scrapped together haha.**

* * *

><p>"Tobias," a shrill voice cries from somewhere. "Tobias," the voice screams again. Something about the timbre – the soft, pleading tone – carries images of water gliding over jagged rocks and ravens soaring through a pale, cloudless sky. The scent of lavender shampoo tickles my nose. It triggers a distant memory in my mind, but I can't hold on to the thought no matter how hard I try. It's like trying to catch smoke with your fingers – frustrating and impossible.<p>

"He doesn't know you." My head snaps around at the sound of a second voice.

My eyes immediately lock onto a pale, willowy figure standing in the middle of the room. There is some semblance of familiarity in her face, in her grey eyes, but I can't quite figure out where I've seen her before. A searing heat floods my bones, but then it is replaced with a bitter, stinging cold as if someone has flipped the switch in my body, telling me that the girl standing before me should not elicit any feelings of warmness. She must be a Dauntless soldier if the mere sight of her is able to trigger such strong feelings of hatred. Judging by her black clothing and wild eyes, I presume my hunch is correct.

Smudges of memories float into my mind: the sting of cracked leather on my body, furious eyes freezing me in a dark corner, and red. So much red. Before I know it, I'm lunging at the girl with my hands stretched out before me as if I'm grappling for the edge of a cliff just seconds before I tumble over into oblivion. My fingers close around her throat, and for a fraction of a second, something about this feels wrong, but I don't know why. It's as if there is a gaping hole in my mind where a chunk of my thoughts and memories have been sucked away. No matter how hard I try to find the root of the problem, I always come up empty. It's like reaching into a box that you know should be full, but grazing the bottom with your fingertips instead because the contents have already been emptied. Maybe the box has always been empty. Nothing makes sense anymore, so I do what my head is telling me to do. I tighten my fingers around the girl's throat.

But there it is again – that feeling of wrongness, like finding out the last piece left in a puzzle doesn't fit properly no matter which way you turn it. It's a constant gnawing at the back of my mind, like an itch that I can't quite reach: I am quite conscious of its presence, but I haven't the slightest idea how to treat it.

Fingers wrap around my arms and pry me off of the girl. I grapple for her even though she's out of my reach. She is the drug and I am the addict who has been deprived of the euphoric haven belonging to the drug for far too long. Strong arms snake around me forming a crisscrossing barricade of flesh and supple grey fabric that prevents me from going anywhere near the girl. I don't understand. She is a Dauntless soldier who has been slaughtering innocent Abnegations, she has to be. I don't understand why they are not letting me get to her. She has to be stopped.

I don't understand.

X X X

They drag me out of the room – the Abnegation guards – and lead me down hallways and winding staircases until we are once again out in the open air with nothing but the multitude of stars above and the occasional flickering streetlamp to offer light.

The last time I walked out of that building with my father, the sky had taken on the most brilliant cerulean hue which stretched endlessly in all directions without a single wrinkle, so perfect and vibrant that if you turned your head upside down, you might have mistakened it for the ocean. It had been the middle of autumn, then, and a gust of cold air rattled the trees; the maple leaves dyed the sky auburn.

What catches my eyes now is not the striking blue of the sky or the burnt hue of aging leaves but the rich, vivid pools of crimson, so prominent against the pallor of the pavement. In the distance, the pitter patter of footsteps can be heard. Whether they belong to Dauntless soldiers chasing their prey, or Abnegations fleeing to safety, I do not know. I hope it's the latter.

X X X

A firm hand presses against my back at all times pushing me forward.

"Where are we going?" I ask as we approach the train tracks. "The Dauntless compound?"

"Yes," the guard replies curtly. "We need someone in the control room."

I glance down at my watch – the train should be here any minute now, and sure enough, the piercing screech of the whistle resounds, the sound resonating in my ears, my chest. As the first car breezes past, my feet pick up the rhythm, the pounding of my footsteps matching the chugging of the train. Without great difficulty, I hoist myself into a passing car. I turn around expecting to find the Abnegation guards struggling against the Dauntless custom of jumping trains, but they've all made it onto the train effortlessly, which I found quite odd because I struggled a fair bit when I first tried to jump a train. I don't linger long on the thought, though.

As the train picks up speed along its winding track that dances in and out of the rubbles that populate the outskirts of Chicago, the gathering wind whispers its hush tones in my ear and the blinking lights in the distance become blurry lines as if someone had dipped their fingers in glow-in-the-dark paint and smeared their fingers across the city.

After some time, the gentle swerving of the train alerts me to the close proximity of the Dauntless compound. As soon as I see the glass building above the Pit, I shuffle to my feet and launch out of the train car onto the hard pavement below. Once again, a hand presses against my back urging me forward, a silent reminder of the presence of the Abnegation guards. Through the heavily guarded entrance to the glass building, the empty hallways resonate with a ringing silence that penetrates my skin and raises the goosebumps on my arms. We stop outside the door of the control room where I used to work. I hesitate, but the guards push open the door without pause and let me into the room.

A myriad of screens flicker before my eyes, each showing a different part of the city I grew up in. Some screens offer a familiar sight while others show segregated parts of Chicago that I have never been to before. I startle as a pair of hands push me down into a chair; I've forgotten I'm not alone.

"Watch this," the guard says, gesturing to the screen in front of me, the only screen with a line of text breezing across it. "Follow whatever instructions that shows up and don't let anyone touch it."

The door behind me clicks shut and muffled footsteps fade into the distance. I turn around and see that the guards have left; I am completely alone save for the finger-sized people running about on the screens. From here they're just flickering bodies, shadow people. I try to focus on the scrolling text in front of me, but I can't help stealing glances at the screens that broadcast the chaos in the Abnegation sector. The streets flow like grey rivers cutting through Chicago. Even in darkness, I can distinguish between the Abnegation and the Dauntless: it's the difference in their body language, in the Abnegations' helpless, pleading demeanor, running around like frightened animals whose nests have been upturned by a predator, and the Dauntless' ruthless actions, killing without feeling and without consideration.

I look away and don't look at the cameras again.

Hours pass, or maybe it's only been minutes; I can't tell. Time trudges forward slowly like warm honey dripping, crawling down the side of a cup. Long periods of idle monotony are punctuated by intervals in which my fingers crack away at the keyboard with a hungry fervor. My mind is focused on one thing and one thing only: shutting down the simulation.

X X X

The first time I experienced the feeling of drowning, I couldn't have been more than three years old. The season had started teetering on the brink of spring and summer. It was an unseasonably hot day and the ground held a likeness to silk cloth: soft snarled threads of emerald green and vibrant hues of yellow, red, and purple. A slight breeze tousled my hair and the leaves of the trees lining the neighbourhood streets. I don't even know if the memory is real because whenever I recall the scene, the colours always seem overly vivid and odd.

Fat beads of sweat rolled down my forehead as my tiny toddler feet carried me down the street away from my mother and back to her again, my shirt becoming increasingly more grass-stained every time I returned to her as I rolled around in the grass looking for grasshoppers and shrieking with laughter every time one took flight a fraction of a second before I was able to enclose it in my grubby hands.

"Look at you," my mother cooed. "You're a mess."

And so, she plunged me into the bathtub and covered the surface of the water with an endless expanse of bubbles. Back then, a bathtub full of water had seemed like a limitless ocean to me. As my mother worked away, scrubbing the dirt and grime off of my skin, I slapped the surface of the water over and over with my chubby hands until my mother's grey shirt was splotched with dark stains of seeping wetness. It was a wonder the neighbours didn't complain about the noise; I swear you could hear our laughter all the way down the street.

My father was at work, and we weren't expecting him home until late afternoon. You can imagine our surprise when the bathroom door banged open. I had just stood up to smear bubbles on the wall. My mother, startled by the noise behind her, knocked me over by complete accident and I hit my head on the pristine, white porcelain of the bathtub rim. As my head submerged underwater, I heard my father's stern voice drifting in from the doorway. Strangely, the first thing that crossed my mind was not the fact that I was drowning but rather a profound confusion as to why I was hearing his voice right there in the bathroom. I had not expected him there.

This is the memory that crosses my mind when the door bursts open.

"Tobias," an oddly familiar voice says.

My head submerges and again, I drown.

* * *

><p><strong>I know I said I was going to wrap up the story with this chapter, but I was taking far too long to update so I decided to end the chapter here and upload the rest in a few days or so when I finish writing the other half. I guess this is my (somewhat sloppy and long overdue) holiday present for everyone! <strong>

**I really hope you liked this chapter and again, I'm really sorry that I've kept you waiting for so long. I've missed you guys, I really have. I'm going to take advantage of my winter holiday and write as much as I can so hopefully I'll be able to finish one or two chapters of Insurgent before school starts again.**

**So yeah, leave a review if you'd like, or even just drop a quick hello. I appreciate anyone and everyone who takes time out of their day to read this (:**

**Happy holidays, merry belated Christmas and happy early new years!**

*****To the anonymous user who left a review saying I keep spelling "colors" wrong, I am not. Colours and colors are both correct. I am Canadian so I use British English, and British spelling says it should be spelled _colour, _not _color_. **


End file.
